


(Un)Calculated Risk

by The-Clairvoyant-Rick (MajixTrixx)



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Avoidance, Avoiding Feelings, Cockwarming, Denial, Existential Crisis, First Time, Intercrural Sex, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Morty wants Rick's attention, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-07 15:04:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15910686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajixTrixx/pseuds/The-Clairvoyant-Rick
Summary: They don't talk about it. They don't talk about it when Rick gives Morty a handjob in the ship, all the while refusing to spare him a glace. They don't talk about it when Morty kneels at Rick's feet in the garage for hours and hours with a warm mouth wrapped around his grandpa's dick. And they certainly don't talk about it when Rick sits, silent as can be, watching TV while Morty bounces breathlessly in his lap. They don't talk about it... Until they do.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Bam, two for two! I'm stoked to be presenting the first chapter for my second piece in the Rick and Morty Big Bang Collection! So much time and effort, and it was all worth it! This piece turned out a little more thought heavy and smut-filled than I originally imagined but I think it works really well that way. I'm excited for you guys to read it and I hope you enjoy the content as much as I enjoyed writing it for you guys! For this project I was paired with one of my absolute fav artists (which was a real honor) Shameless-Display (formerly A-Very-Shameful-Display) who can be found here: https://shameless-display.tumblr.com I'll be providing a Permalink to the art they're submitting for this fic after the Collection closes on the 11th in the Notes at the bottom of the chapter. 
> 
> Big shout out to Sqk for editing and to KlaxAddict for making all of this possible. 
> 
> Xoxo,  
> Clair

An ominous sense of foreboding sat heavily in the back of Morty's mind as he alternated between staring at his computer and glancing down at his lap every once and a while. 

The over-exaggerated moans of some nameless woman filtered quietly through his ear buds. The sound was feeding itself directly into brain, caressing his thoughts with loud moans and the occasional soft, airy whimper. Morty couldn't help but think that the softer sounds seemed more real than all the rest, but even that wasn't having the desired effect. Instead of getting turned on, imagining _he_ was the one forcing those noises out of her mouth, or even that he was sitting in a chair watching it happen in real time, Morty sat wondering just how much of her performance was faked and how much was actually real. He wondered if the guy pounding away between her legs would actually manage to get her off or if she'd just fake it, arching and squealing with her legs wrapped around his hips like she'd die if he stopped. 

Morty wondered if the guy would notice if she faked it. Or if he'd even care. 

Indifference settled even more heavily over the teen's features and he fell deeper into his mindless ponderings. He watched as the man pulled out, grabbed his partner by the hips, and casually re-positioned her. He guessed it was supposed to be sexy, the show of strength alongside an edge of rough handling, but all Morty could think about was how uncomfortable the actress must have been. He should've been watching the man's dick as it slid in and out of her body, wishing they could trade places, but Morty couldn't get past how, every time the actor flexed his hips and drove in deep, a small wrinkle appeared between the woman's eyebrows. Like she was trying not to grimace.

Hazel eyes glanced toward her feet, taking note of the fact that her toes weren't curled and the muscles in her calves were limp and relaxed.

The sight dropped Morty's interest down another notch and the teen started to zone out. Little to no expression crossed Morty's features as he sat there, thinking about the realism behind the camera as the actress' breasts bounced like jello on the screen.

By the time the video stopped, ending right before the actor supposedly shot a load all over her face, Morty still wasn't even remotely hard.

Not that he was surprised.

The brunet sighed and tugged his earbuds out, closing his laptop a little harder than necessary and shoving it further down the bed with a resigned attitude.

He'd tried everything so far, all of his favorites. Lesbians with red hair, bisexual threeway, twinks, facesitting, rimming, even hentai, and _none_ of it worked. No matter what he pulled up, no matter what he imagined or conjured up to fuel his fantasies, his dick refused to do more than chub up. He could've been standing at the front of his math class in skin tight jeans and nobody would've noticed a thing.

Which was the exact _opposite_ of what he was aiming for.

Morty made a frustrated sound and flopped back onto his bed, throwing an arm over his eyes.

He was supposed to be a normal teenage boy, one that sat alone in his room and beat off until his dick was too sore to continue, but that wasn't happening. It wasn't happening and it hadn't since–

Morty swallowed sharply and tried to stop that thought in its tracks, feeling the muscles in his esophagus carry that meager bit of saliva all the way down to his knotted up stomach.

A flash of poorly contained memories from the end of his last adventure with Rick skated across the forefront of Morty's mind, even as he tried to block them out.

_A remembered glimpse of his grandpa's face; Rick's lips twisted in a scowl, prominent frown lines on display, accentuated by a sense of annoyance at his grandson's apparent inability to follow even the most basic of instructions while they were adventuring. His skin hot. His fingertips tingling where he'd touched the vibrant yellow petals from the planet they left behind. Rick's frown deepening when he started to really squirm in the passenger's seat, no longer able to ignore the strengthening sensation. His own failure to hide a blatantly obvious erection behind embarrassed hands and a tell-tale blush. Rick snapping at him to just get it over with and not beat around the bush like a pussy. His fingers trembling as he fought with the button of his jeans. The sound of his zip being lowered like a scream in the thick silence between them. Performance anxiety. The choked off gasp of both alarm and pleasure as Rick reached over without looking and took him in hand._

Morty bit his lip as he thought about it. Every ounce of self preservation he possessed screamed at him to stop but, as someone that'd never been blessed with much self control to begin with, Morty couldn't stop himself from reaching down to wrap his fingers around his length. His cock still wasn't fully hard, not anywhere close, but it was perking up more than it had all night. Morty whimpered quietly to himself and that initial sense of foreboding grew.

But he was quick to push it away, swallowing down that sense of worry with all the ease of someone that'd suppressed far worse.

The nervous words of hesitancy he'd stuttered out as Rick started to move his hand were unimportant and quickly skipped over as Morty relived the memory. He didn't give much thought to the way he'd fretted, balls deep in a silent sexuality crisis while Rick stared straight ahead and rambled on about some explanation that Morty couldn't really remember. Maybe it had to do with the flowers he touched, or about the multiverse and their infinite selves. Maybe both. Either way, it didn't seem important now.

Instead, Morty thought about the way it felt.

Awkward at first. The positioning wasn't ideal and, even with his foreskin sliding up and down along the head of his cock, there wasn't enough moisture to make it entirely pleasant. Rick's fingers were warm. Far warmer than he thought they would've been considering how many times the old man grabbed the back of his neck with icy hands just to be a dick. Not that that was really all that unexpected. Morty was used to his grandpa being a total asshole just for the sake of–

Morty shook his head at the distracting train of thought and gave his hardening cock a squeeze to get himself back on track, hissing at the sensation that jolted his system.

The way it felt. Dry, papery skin that was far more pleasant against his own than he'd ever expected. Those skilled, nimble fingers stroking his length, making his belly clench every time they slipped over the head of his cock to gather more precome. His stomach rolling in both arousal and confused uncertainty. His moral compass trying to figure out which way to point, spinning around and around without a hope of direction. The release he experienced when he gave in and just let whatever was going to happen, _happen._ He'd laid back against the seat then, his eyes falling closed, head lolled to the side as he focused on the feelings and tried not to think about who was doing it to him.

Morty squeezed his eyes shut in a pathetic mimicry of the other night and reached down to cup his balls with a loud groan. He tried to copy Rick's movements as well as he could from memory, loosely cork screwing his wrist even though it was far more lazily than Rick had done it back in the ship. The fact that he was trying to be even remotely similar was enough to make the brunet that much harder.

Morty wished he would've paid a little more attention to what was going on when it happened. He wished he had more to fuel his fantasy but it felt so dirty then. It felt dirty now, too, he forced himself to remember, but after watching hours of porn without the slightest bit of interest, it was easy to ignore the morals that should've kept him from enjoying it. Instead of thinking about the fact that, in the eyes of society, they'd done something unforgivable, he was still thinking about Rick's fingers. He was thinking about the near clinical way they slid up and down his shaft; efficient and so much more experienced than his own hand even though he'd masturbated at least twice a day since he turned thirteen. Instead of flipping the fuck out about his mother's _father_ telling him to get off in front of him in a confined space, Morty was letting blissful humiliation coat his tongue. He was re-imagining the way he pushed his hips up, his pathetic little whines echoing in the ship as Rick tightened his grip just a step beyond comfortable.

Morty started to pant. His cock was dripping by now, fully hard and sensitive as hell. The teen looked down his body, groaning at the sight of his dick in his hand, flushed and slick with his own arousal. The experience in the ship only lasted a few minutes, maybe five at most, but Morty wanted to pretend it was longer than that. He wanted to imagine that Rick had drawn it out a little, letting his aching cock slap up against his belly right before he could come.

As he continued, Morty filled the silence of his own memory, replacing the sound of his broken, panting breaths with imagined pleas. For the sake of his fantasy, Morty let himself believe that he would've begged. He pictured moaning out his enjoyment, begging Rick to take him back in hand, to make him _come,_ and, in his fantasy, his grandpa obliged.

Swiping his thumb back and forth over the weeping slit, Morty clenched his teeth and threw his head back against the pillow with a quiet grunt.

It was too much and not nearly enough, every touch leaving Morty more strung out and desperate to come than the last, but he just couldn't reach it. He was racing along the top of a plateau, not getting any higher no matter how much he tried, and his fantasy had reached its end. There was only so much he could imagine, only so much he could add to his mental re-imagination without having a full fledged panic attack in the middle of his jerk off session, and everything he'd already added in had become nothing short of unhelpful. The teen whimpered helplessly.

He _needed_ it. He _needed_ to come. He was so fucking close. All it would take is—

"Morty, come on!"

The rest of whatever Rick hollered up the stairs went entirely unheard as Morty exploded in his hand with a choked off gasp. Orgasm ripped through the teen's body with unexpected ferocity. It pounded through him, every pulse making his toes curl and his muscles tighten up that much further until his straining body finally collapsed back into sweat dampened sheets. Chest heaving and blissed out, skin splattered with the evidence of his release, Morty could do nothing but let his memories wash over him however they wished, lapping at his toes and taking him full circle.

He'd done nearly the exact same thing in the ship with Rick, after all, coming hard and going boneless mere seconds later. Somehow that just added to the fantasy. Even though he'd already finished, even though he was going soft and the come was cooling on his skin, the parallel between the past and the present just made it that much more real. It was like he was reliving it inside his head. Behind his eyelids he was watching Rick wipe his hand nonchalantly on his lab coat, watching those long fingers grip the steering wheel as Rick looked straight ahead into the far reaching depths of space. Like nothing had happened. Not speaking.

And, in the final moment before he fell asleep, Morty found himself wishing that Rick would've looked his way.  
  


* * *

 

In the four days since Morty came thinking about what happened with Rick, he couldn't stop feeling sick to his stomach.

Everytime he thought he was past it, or at least that he was ready to move on, he'd succumb to all the things he tried not to think about, effectively slamming himself with self loathing and disgust all over again. He'd see Rick, or the ship, or his fucked up memories would make another appearance in his fantasies while he was trying to get off, and suddenly the whole thing would crawl right back up his throat like hot bile — ready to spill out and leave a sour taste in his mouth.

It was starting to become an issue, a real one that Morty couldn't ignore as easily as he did any of the other fucked up things he did with Rick. He couldn't just lock it all away and not think about it because, despite what he wanted to believe, Morty was starting to realize that it wasn't the memories or even the fantasy itself that was fucking him up. It was the fact that _he wanted it to happen again._

Morty tightened his grip on the pencil in his hand as that thought crossed his mind, digging the graphite point into his scantron sheet harder than necessary.

He should've been thinking about the math test, worrying about the questions or how failing it would affect his already abysmal grades, but Morty's thoughts refused to sink into the mundane muck that was normality. He was never particularly good at thinking about the things he was supposed to. That's what'd gotten him into the whole fucked up situation to begin with.

That alone was bad enough but, in addition to having a wandering mind, the teen's motivation was also plagued by the sheer futility of it all. Morty knew letting his thoughts run away from him wouldn't make a difference one way or another. It wasn't like thinking about Rick was going to distract him in any way. He hadn't even been to school for the past two days, let alone studied for the quiz, so letting his mind wander wasn't really all that likely to change anything. However, he _had_ hoped that it'd provide some sort of distraction.

He thought that, by sitting a few rows away from Jessica and the rest of his class, that maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to stop thinking about the incestuous poison burrowing into his brain like a parasite. He thought it'd be a realistic, if not overly dull, solution to his issue, that being around normality would remind him of who he really was and what sort of life he was supposed to have, but that didn't seem to be the case. If anything, being surrounded by his peers was only making it worse. Sitting with them, watching them, listening to the monotonous drone of his math teacher and the whisper of voices that suddenly fell silent the moment Mr. Goldenfold started passing out tests, just made Morty realize how alone in his issues he really was. How alone in his _life_ he really was. Being surrounded by kids with normal lives, normal parents, normal problems, it made him realize how little they had in common and how far removed from them he'd become in his time with Rick.

Even without the incident in the ship.

Their chatter, the scratch of pencil on paper, the knowledge of just how little he cared, it only served to solidify his place as an outsider. It made Morty want to go back home to Rick and their adventures, to the place where he belonged, to the things he _knew._ He didn't know math, or history, or even social studies, but he _did_ know how to locate a Shabernese dwindle-dorf in the dead of night. In the Shikirian desert. Without Rick's optic enhancing goggles. And that was _way_ more useful in his day-to-day life than the Quadratic formula had ever been.

He didn't need to think about that sort of thing. Thinking, in all actuality, was Rick's job. He didn't need to calculate complex equations or figure out trajectory or even come up with the majority of their plans. That was Rick's job, always had been. He was good at other things. Defusing situations when Rick was too plastered to watch what he said. Disassembling neutrino bombs and playing getaway driver. Searching out whatever foreign material Rick was on the hunt for. That's where he excelled, where he belonged, really.

Not in math class on Earth.

Being among his peers, being surrounded by them while he was forced to learn something that didn't benefit him, something he just couldn't _grasp,_ it made Morty crave individuality all that much more. It made him want to stand out. To do a good job. To participate in something he could actually do, and whether he liked it or not, that was something he'd only ever found at Rick's side during their adventures.

He wasn't normal. He hadn't been for a long time, but thinking about that, acknowledging it and looking at all the ways he differed from those around him, it came with the unfortunate flood of shit he'd gone to school to _avoid_ thinking about.

Right off the bat, Morty was forced to recognize that, if he was normal, he never would've let Rick touch him, let alone imagined it happening again. He would've flipped out. He would've told somebody. But he didn't. Because, really, considering all the fucked up shit that happened between them over the course of their adventures, the newest aspect of their fucked up relationship felt almost par for the course. Morty was arguably surprised that it hadn't happened somewhat sooner, all things considered. With how many issues they run into on basis, he's surprised they haven't accidentally stumbled across some kind of sex pollen or one of those fuck or die situations.

Illegal actions, warped morality, and situations gone wrong were practically their adventure based bread and butter. Morty wasn't sure why he expected their home life, let alone their personal relationship, to be much different.

That shred of truth had Morty hunching just a little further over his desk, as though he were trying to curl away from his own thoughts. Not that it helped. No matter what he did, he couldn't stop thinking about the fucked up life he'd come to lead.

Morty started coloring in the scantron bubbles at random, glancing up at the clock between questions.

If he already saw his life with Rick as the environment he thrived in, then did it really matter what he did with his test? Did any of the answers matter? Did _school_ matter? Did _Earth?_ Morty scribbled in four bubbles in the same row, simply because he could, and idly wondered what the hell he was doing.

He came to school because it was what was expected of him. Expected of all people, really. To socialize, make friends, get good grades so he could graduate and go to college and get _more_ good grades and graduate again. Finding work, living life, doing all the things he was supposed to do all the way down the line until he retired and died with some significant other and a couple kids. But was that sort of future actually in the cards for him? His grades already sucked and, with all his absences and his poor choices, he'd probably fucked up his GPA to the point where the only future left for him on Earth was one where he'd be stuck going to a community college, just like his dad, so he could get a worthless piece of paper and end up at a dead end job to scrape by.

Morty's frown deepened and he tried to be realistic with himself as he started see-sawing his pencil between his fingers, totally ignorant to the annoyed glances he was getting every time the piece of wood met his desk.

The reality was, he went to school to keep his parents off his back and to get away from Rick when the old man pissed him off or got too annoying to deal with. That was schools true function to him at this point. It was a dull escape from the, admittedly, exciting life he fell into with his grandpa. School had become a vacation and, for the first time, Morty gave actual thought to whether or not his true purpose was waiting for him out in the cosmos rather than on some dinky, backwater planet in the far reaches of a galaxy barely out of its diapers.

He could've argued that school was a way to socialize with his peers and remember that his stupid, crazy family wasn't the center of his universe but, really, what had that actually done for him? He wasn't popular. He didn't have friends. Unless he went to college and somehow found a way to stop being so awkward and unreliable he'd most likely be stuck in the same troubled mindset he was now _wherever_ he went. He'd always be on the outside looking in. School wasn't a way for him to fulfill the social desires of adolescence. It hadn't miraculously given him a social circle or a chance at normality with some girl. Or boy. It just left him as an outsider between two very different worlds.

He didn't _have_ a life.

The only life he currently had was with Rick.

And, with the newest development in their already unorthodox relationship, it was starting to become more and more apparent to Morty that Earth had very little to offer him. The only thing he was really missing out on was a relationship, sex, a _connection,_ and who was to say that he wouldn't find that out in space? Hell, who was to say he hadn't found it already? If Rick was willing to give that to him, even if only for a short time, then what was the point of bothering with a future on Earth anyway? And, if he was already thinking along those lines, if he was warped enough to actually entertain the idea of a relationship with his own grandpa, was a life on Earth even a good idea? Who could possibly relate to that way of thinking? What sort of friend could he make that had a hope of understanding the sort of person he'd become? What was the point of trying when he already had a friend that understood? One that probably understood better than he did.

The unexpected return to square one, complete with justification of what'd happened, and an acceptance of what he secretly wanted to keep happening, had Morty snapping his pencil in two. The sudden crack was loud enough to startle even him and the brunet blushed when more than a couple heads turned toward the sound.

Regardless of how much he'd grown or what he'd done on his adventures with Rick, Morty still wasn't one for being in the spotlight. It never failed to make him uncomfortable, even in a meaningless situation. Perhaps even especially during meaningless situations, and this time wasn't any different.

Morty ducked his head and went about getting a new pencil, trying to portray himself as overly interested in his search. It was difficult not to peek and see if anyone was still looking but Morty avoided the temptation right up until he found a new one. Sitting up, the teen dragged his gaze up to the rest of his class and was relieved to find himself free of attention. With a single exception.

Jessica was looking at him.

Normally that alone would have his palms sweating and his imagination ready to take over, but, this time, Morty found himself detached from his usual interest in her. He was more curious about why she was still looking at him at all.

Morty didn't have a clue but, when they made eye contact, she offered him a reassuring smile. It was a soft expression, one that Morty wasn't used to having directed towards him, and he off-handedly wondered what he could to to make Rick smile at him like that. If Rick was even capable of such a thing.

She turned back around a moment later and Morty felt a heavy fog settle over his heart.

Even his desire for Jessica had become eclipsed by Rick. He was starting to think everything in his life would eventually meet the same end and, as he stared at her back, feeling his longtime crush crumble away to ash against his will, he silently mourned the loss of any remaining normality he could've had.

 

* * *

  
Morty wasn't actually sure how old he had to be to classify what he was experiencing as a mid-life crisis but, as he sat at the dinner table, troubled and emotionally wrung out from the mental laps he'd been running all day, Morty decided that it didn't really matter one way or another. With all the crazy shit he encountered out in space with Rick, Morty was pretty sure his life expectancy had dropped by quite a bit. Sixteen was probably about mid-life for him, he supposed, and, if it wasn't, well then fuck it. Because there wasn't anything else Morty could come up with to describe how he felt.

After his conflicting, internal crisis, Morty completely understood why people dealt with the shock by buying a fancy new car or dating someone half their age to get over whatever fucked up their mojo. He certainly could've used a distraction from his own issues, or at least something else to focus on, and the peas he was currently stirring into his mashed potatoes definitely weren't it.

Worse still was the fact that his biggest likelihood of distraction was the very thing he needed to be distracted _from._

Morty snuck a glance over at Rick.

The older man wasn't looking at him, far too busy arguing with his dad to even be aware of Morty's existence, and the teen was at least somewhat grateful for that. He'd spent what felt like all day thinking about his grandpa, trying to understand how he felt about what happened between them and what it could possibly mean for him, what it meant for his life and what sort of meaning his life even held outside of Rick. He was exhausted. Everything fed into everything else, every thought heading back to another cluster of tangled up problems, and Morty couldn't disassemble and figure out one thing without making a mess of all the others. It was getting to the point where, if Rick were to look at him, Morty was almost positive his issues would be splashed across his face in bright, attention grabbing colors for the older man to see.

It seemed irrational but it wasn't out of the realm of possibility. Rick had worked things out with less to go on in the past.

Morty was so busy staring idly at Rick, lost in his own thoughts, that he nearly fell out of his chair when those piercing blue eyes were suddenly on him. It caused Morty to freeze in place, his eyes wide as he silently prayed Rick wouldn't be able to read his mind somehow. Part of him was worried that his prayer had gone unanswered. Or, more likely, that whatever being might exist to hear it and chosen to spite him and do the exact opposite instead, and that feeling grew when something akin to surprise flashed in Rick's eyes. It was probably just because he hadn't expected to find Morty staring at him, but that didn't quench Morty's resulting paranoia. Whatever it was disappeared in an instant, something Morty was incredibly grateful for, and he was borderline happy when the unnamed emotion was replaced by the first budding signs of annoyance.

"Don't ignore your mother, dipshit." Rick grunted, narrowing his eyes as Morty's widened.

The teen glanced over at his expectantly waiting mother and felt his cheeks go slightly pink when he realized that she, along with rest of the table, was staring at him.

Morty cleared his throat awkwardly. "S-sorry, Mom. I wasn't paying attention. What did you say?"

The smile that adorned her lips reminded him of the one Jessica flashed him just a few hours ago — soft, encouraging, but different. This one held an air of familiarity to it as well. It was fond, if not a bit exasperated, and Morty suddenly had a feeling that she probably wasn't all that surprised by his apparent distraction.

"I can see that, honey." She replied, a note of poorly disguised amusement lining her tone.

"What are you thinking about over there that's got you so deep in thought?" She asked.

On instinct, Morty reached for a throwaway answer and replied, "Nothing, really. I was just thinking about an adventure I had with Rick the other day."

His mom nodded in understanding and, apparently having decided that her original question was no longer important, turned away to say something to Summer. Maybe he should've been somewhat butthurt that his mom didn't seem to care what's he'd done on his adventure with Rick, at least not enough to prod for details, but Morty had already stopped paying attention to her by that point.

In truth, Morty was much less interested in what she had to say to his sister than he was about the way Rick had suddenly tensed up beside him.

It was an immediate response, one that Morty took a moment to pat himself on the back for noticing, but also one he didn't really grasp conceptually.

Until he did.

Understanding dawned on him in a flash and Morty nearly choked on the mouthful of pork he was trying to swallow when it did. It took everything he had not to flush and gawk at his grandpa when he realized that Rick probably thought he was talking about... _the incident._ Which he was, in a roundabout sort of way. It's what he'd been thinking about on and off all day, after all. Not to mention every day since it'd happened. He really shouldn't have been all that surprised that Rick's mind had went there as well.

But that startled surprise was quickly followed by a flicker of hurt.

Was Rick worried that he was going to tell?

The thought seemed absurd, especially to Morty, but maybe it wasn't. Telling would've been normal. Angsting about whether or not to go to an adult, that would've been normal. Hell, trying to process what happened, _that_ was normal. Maybe it made sense for Rick to be tense. After all, he had the most to lose if Morty chose to speak up about what'd happened between them in the ship.

But Morty didn't like that.

He couldn't imagine betraying their newfound bond — and wasn't that just a whole new level of fucked up? Their so-called bond, at least the one he was currently thinking of, was a secret incestuous encounter, and he was willing to take that knowledge to the grave. Not to protect Rick, and certainly not to protect their family, but selfishly because he wanted to broaden it and see what else he could make happen between them.

The thought sent Morty's heart fluttering.

Sneaking another glance at Rick between bites of his dinner, Morty's breathing picked up speed when he realized how carefully Rick was avoiding looking at him. The man seemed totally relaxed, eating his food, tossing out the occasional comment, but his body language was a different story altogether. It was incredibly forced. The relaxation displayed in his movements was just a little too rough around the edges, like Rick had to remind himself to be calm and eat slowly every so often. His fingers gripped his fork just a little too tightly to be casual and, even though he looked at every member of the family periodically as they chattered away, he didn't look at Morty once.

It made the teen wonder if he was thinking about it. Or maybe if Rick was trying not to. He wondered if, behind Rick's unimpressed blue eyes, he was reliving what happened between them in the ship. Was he calculating? Forming some kind of plan just in case Morty spilled the beans, either purposefully or on accident? Was he regretting what he did?

Staring across the table, listening but not really listening as Summer went on and on about something Ethan did in English, Morty idly wondered how Rick felt about their interaction. He wondered if Rick liked it, if his grandpa wanted to do it again like he did, or if he'd only touched him because of the Quampton Poppies. He wondered if Rick ever gave thought to touching him that way before the other day or if he'd only done so in response to their situation out of some skewed sense of moral obligation that only Rick had a hope of understanding.

Either option seemed possible. Just as possible as the additional idea that neither of those were accurate and that it had to do with something else entirely.

The man was a mystery. Morty didn't understand half the things he did, doubted he ever would, but Morty liked that about Rick. Or, at the very least, he respected it enough to not _not_ like it. He wondered if Rick saw him the same way. Was he a mystery to his grandpa? Even a little bit? Morty doubted it. Rick was a genius and Morty wasn't very spontaneous or overly unpredictable but, still. Morty liked the idea that maybe he would still be able to surprise the man that made so little sense to him.

He liked the idea so much that, without taking even a second to think his action through, Morty reached across the space between them, under the table where his parents couldn't see, and laid his hand on Rick's thigh.

The nonchalant point of contact had Rick stalling for a fraction of a second, his fork halfway up to his mouth, but Morty didn't get much more of a reaction than that. A second later, Rick was right back to normal, all but oblivious to the hand on his thigh as he chatted with his daughter about her day at work and continued to eat her cooking.

The fucked up nature of the situation wasn't lost on Morty, not with where they were or the company surrounding them, but he still felt mildly offended by Rick's lack of response. Even a shared look would've been preferable to Rick's feigned ignorance.

Morty frowned at his thoughts and gave Rick's thigh a squeeze, sliding his palm further up a second later until he was nearly palming his grandpa's crotch.

It certainly provoked a response. Though not necessarily the one he'd imagined.

Rick's sigh was resigned and quiet, unnoticed by his now bickering parents or his annoyed sister, and by the time Rick laid down his fork and turned to look at him with a raised portion of his brow, Morty was forced to acknowledge that maybe a shared glance wasn't enough either. Even with eye contact and Rick's attention, Morty still hadn't figured out if the outcome was positive or not.

He could read Rick's words across his face as easily as if he'd spoken them aloud, but it didn't answer any of the questions he had. He could see the carefully kept distance in Rick's eyes and the depth of his frown. He could see that signature expression of annoyance Rick sometimes got when he was forced to deal with something he'd very purposefully put on the back burner in the pinch of his wrinkles and the thin press of his lips. But all those minor signs merely added depth to the way Rick's expression seemed to say, _Really? We're gonna do this now?_

There was an underlying shakiness when Morty swallowed but he still squeezed Rick's thigh a second time, silently questioning the sanity of that decision as he persisted.

But, still, Rick wasn't giving him a clear cut answer one way or another. The older man just rolled his eyes, a definite _whatever_ if Morty had ever seen one, and turned back to his dinner, scooping up his fork and a bite of potatoes in one fluid motion.

Morty drooped and released Rick's thigh, taking up his own fork instead.

He'd been left with more questions than answers and an unfortunate amount of anxiety eating away at his stomach. Morty's appetite vanished and he went back to pushing his food around rather than eating it. He didn't say another word for the rest of the night.


	2. Chapter 2

Morty wasn't sure how long he'd been standing outside the garage door. Staring at the pale wood, eyeing the cloudy metal doorknob, the teen was stuck wondering whether or not he should just go in and get it over with. 

He was, understandably, hesitant to make the first move. Or maybe it was the second move. Unless the handjob in the ship also counted, in which case, Morty had no idea how many moves there were. It was a moot point, really. No matter how he thought about it or what he decided to call it, the situation didn't get any less daunting. 

Rick had been decidedly unhelpful the night before and Morty still had no idea what was going on or how he should act in the face of it. The anxiety based strain of not knowing was really starting to stress him out. So much so that, rather than trying to ignore it or calmly waiting around for Rick to explain what exactly was going on, Morty found himself standing outside the garage, trying to work up the nerve to enter. 

Ironically enough, it was the sound of something crashing just on the other side that had Morty ripping the door open and stepping inside. 

Rick didn't bother looking up at him when he entered. The older man was too busy jabbing a screwdriver between metal panels and grumbling out angry slurs in some alien language to really pay attention. Morty didn't understand most of what the older man was saying but, when he caught Rick calling the frustrating piece of tech a snot lubed shit lord in Glim Flark, he winced. His grandpa definitely wasn't in a good mood and Morty regretted coming into the garage almost immediately. 

"Unless you're here t-to  — to suck my cock, get the fuck out."

Morty jumped a little when Rick suddenly grouched at him. He hadn't been certain Rick realized he was even standing there to begin with so, being addressed in that sharp, angry, tone caught Morty off guard all on its own and it took more than a few seconds for Rick's words to register. 

Morty gaped at his grandpa when they finally did. 

"What?" He choked out. 

Rick's brow furrowed that much more and his scowl deepened as he wretched the metal rod out and threw his Philip's head back in the toolbox, rummaging around for something else. 

"You heard me, _ Morty." _ Rick pulled some other type of tool from the metal box, swearing again as he shoved it back between the metal pieces. The old man was really giving it to whatever invention dared defy him. Morty almost felt bad for it but promptly sorted his priorities when Rick continued to speak, not bothering to look at his grandson as he addressed him. "I don't have time for your redundant, teenage bullshit, Morty. So unless you're here to suck my cock, get the fuck out and don't  — and stop bothering me."

Morty's jaw was virtually on the floor and he had no idea how to pick it back up. 

Was it really that simple? 

They hadn't talked about what happened a single time. Rick didn't mention it, didn't warn him not to tell anyone, didn't give him any flirtatious looks, he didn't do  _ anything. _ There was actually a point where everything was so normal that Morty was momentarily convinced that he'd made the whole thing up. Or, at the very least, that he'd dreamed it up in some weird Q-Pop based hallucination. 

The first time it was even  _ referenced _ was the night before and suddenly Rick was comfortable enough with it to tell him to get on his knees or leave? Was there a chance he'd been waiting for Morty to respond before he did anything else? Was his little thigh grab at the dinner table the catalyst for what was happening now or was the timing just coincidental? And did that mean that Rick wanted to be in a sexual relationship with him? 

Morty head was spinning but a gruffly spoken, "Did you hear me, you deaf little fuck?" pulled him out of his thoughts and back into the present. 

The situation wasn't exactly ideal. Morty wished they could've had a conversation about it instead so he at least knew where he stood but, knowing Rick as he did, the idea of that actually happening was way more unlikely than what was happening now. 

And, really, it was what he wanted, wasn't it? 

Rick wasn't saying no or rejecting him. He wasn't rolling his eyes or calling him disgusting or any of the more intimidating reactions that'd kept Morty from broaching the topic sooner. He was just demanding they get on with it and do what they were going to do. It was blunt, straightforward, and far less awkward than Morty probably would've made it if he tried to talk about what he wanted. 

Morty gulped. 

With his mind made up, it seemed like it'd be easier to take those handful of steps over to his grandpa and get down on his knees, but it wasn't. His feet felt like they were encased in wet concrete. Every step was burdened with the amount of effort it took to make it a reality and, even when he finally locked the door and shuffled forward, that heaviness didn't leave him. 

Rick still wasn't looking his way. The man was too engrossed in his project to care about much else, and it was almost as if his grandpa was ignorant to his presence. Morty knew that he wasn't, though, and he also knew that Rick didn't usually have very much patience as it was, let alone when he was pissed off and grumpy about an uncooperative invention. Still, looking down at the unforgiving concrete floor, Morty found himself hesitant to kneel down. His knees were knobby and not especially cushioned as it was and the teen knew the concrete wouldn't do him any favors. Especially if he ended up being there for longer than a few minutes. 

"Err, Rick?" Morty hesitantly asked. "Do you have anything I could, y’know.."

Without even looking up at him, Rick grunted and reached under himself to haul the cushion of his stool out from under his ass. Rick tossed the thing carelessly onto the floor but Morty still smiled at the gesture. It was better than nothing, and Morty didn't hesitate to sink down to his knees on it. Once he was down there, though, the majority of that easy going acceptance disappeared. 

Sitting back on his heels, caught between Rick's long, spidery legs and the weight of his own uncertainty, Morty's palms started to sweat. He didn't have any experience to speak of, not with anything other than his left hand, and Morty could barely believe that he was actually trying to psych himself up to suck a dick. 

His  _ grandpa's dick, _ Morty forced himself to remember. 

The teen swallowed heavily at that, feeling like the action had done very little to wet his throat. Even still, Morty was determined. He'd already thought about what happened in the ship enough to know he'd sell his left nut for it to happen again. And now was his chance. However, knowing he was so close to what he'd convinced himself he wanted wasn't enough to make it any less intimidating. Being more certain didn't stop him from worrying or over analyzing everything he did but, if nothing else, Morty was stubborn. Stubborn like his mom. Stubborn like his grandpa. There was no way he'd back out like a coward. Not when he was already on his knees. 

Feeling empowered by his ability to make a decision, Morty sat forward and startled fumbling with Rick's belt. Every little noise seemed both individually loud and completely unnoticeable. The jingle of the belt buckle, the muffled snap of a button popping free, the tell-tale sound of Rick's zipper being tugged down, it was all lost in the symphony of noise Rick was making as he persistently banged on whatever he was working on, and yet, Morty could still hear the underlying noises. He could hear each one as if it were being made in the dead of night and Morty tried not to hyperventilate as the fucked up nature of what he was doing slammed into him over and over like a series of unforgiving waves against the cliffside. 

Rick was kind enough to lift his ass off the seat once Morty was finished. It made it much easier for the teen to get his grandpa's pants down around his thighs and Morty was more than a little grateful for that. He was thankful he wouldn't have to make a fool out of himself by fighting to get Rick's dick far enough out of his clothes for him to suck. His lack of experience was bound to be embarrassing enough, there wasn't any need to make it any worse. 

Morty smiled to himself at that thought. 

And then his eyes were drawn to Rick's groin. 

The man was still noticeably soft, but Morty wasn't offended. Despite how careful his grandpa was about not sharing his exact age, Morty knew Rick was at least sixty and it was going to take more than some fully clothed high schooler on their knees to get the older man hard. Even if Rick hadn't been pissed off and totally distracted Morty doubted he could've done it so easily. But he was eager to see it hard. The soft, vulnerable length hung from a thicket of dark, wiry blue curls and Morty wasn't surprised to find that Rick's pubes were just about as wild and unkempt as his hair. It wasn't matted or unpleasant but Morty knew the man probably didn't shave or keep it even remotely trimmed and, somehow, that excited him. Even soft Rick's cock looked above average and Morty idly wondered if he was both a grower  _ and _ a shower, or simply the latter. 

Morty was still nervous but, with a goal in mind, he found direction. He didn't have to think about anything but getting Rick hard and that was something even Morty felt like he could accomplish without too many issues. 

The teen reached out and took Rick's length into his hand, his gaze flicking up to his grandpa's face, searching for a reaction. Rick remained totally indifferent to the hand around his cock, completely focused, and Morty took his lack of complaint as a sign to continue. He leaned forward and flicked his tongue experimentally over the covered tip, pleased to find that it didn't taste like much of anything. Just skin, a bit of salt, somewhat musky from Rick's lazy start to the day, but not much else and Morty decided that was something he could definitely work with. 

Pulling his hand away, Morty sucked the entire length of Rick's soft cock into his mouth without warning, causing the older man to take in a sharp breath. It was a surprisingly pleasant mouthful, weighty against his tongue but not enough to choke him, and Morty was glad he hadn't stuck with just his hand. Sucking Rick soft certainly wasn't something he could've ever imagined enjoying but Morty quickly decided that he liked it, at least the way it felt, and the noise he'd dragged out of Rick hadn't hurt either. It didn't take long for Morty to start sucking on it. 

He was clumsy at first. It wasn't nearly as easy as he imagined and Morty was having a difficult time finding a rhythm. Most of his focus was centered around trying not to let Rick's length slip past his lips completely and keeping his teeth covered but that quickly started to change when Rick's body finally started to respond. Morty could feel Rick plumping up between his lips, the added weight against his tongue forcing his jaws just a little wider, the head starting to fill the back of his throat beyond what was comfortable, and Morty was eventually forced to pull off.

 

  


 

He popped off Rick's cock with a wet gasp, breathing heavy as he uncoordinatedly reached out like they did in pornos to grab Rick's slick cock and start fisting it. 

The momentary break afforded him a chance to peek up at Rick and Morty didn't hesitate to take it. The older man was still working, ripping wires from the core and stripping the insulation around them away with his fingernails, but he wasn't entirely unaffected. The muscles in his stomach were tight, his breathing rougher than necessary, and there was what seemed like a slight flush to Rick's face. All of that evidence paled in comparison to the hot, heavy erection in his hand but Morty liked the little signs. He wanted to break Rick's focus, to make the older man stop and stare at him, and Morty took Rick's unwavering focus as a challenge. 

He quickly dove back in. 

Wrapping his lips around the partially exposed head of Rick's tool, Morty licked clumsily at it. His inexperienced tongue lapped at the edges of Rick's foreskin, sometimes dipping underneath, while his hand took on most of the work. His strokes were somewhat choppy, but Rick was getting harder still beneath his palm and Morty counted that as a win. It made him cocky. In a maneuver that one of Morty's favorite porn stars did in almost all her videos, Morty slid his fist down, giving the length a squeeze, and exposed the entire crown of Rick's cock as he plunged it into his mouth, fully intending on taking it as deep as he could. The unexpected change must've caught Rick off guard because, a split second later, Morty heard his grandpa hiss and drop the partially stripped invention onto the work bench. Less than a second later, Rick's grease coated fingers were in his curls and grabbing a fist full. 

Morty didn't mind. The thought of Rick grabbing onto his hair because it felt so good was hot enough to have Morty mentally drooling but the teen made a panicked sound in the back of his throat when Rick suddenly tightened his grip and arched his hips off the stool, shoving as much of his cock down Morty's throat as he could. The muscles there spasmed around the intrusion, slick flesh gripping Rick's cock as he choked, and the discomfort brought tears to Morty's eyes. The fear of having his throat passage blocked and not being able to breathe had Morty immediately trying to pull away, and Rick let him, only letting out a small groan of disappointment when Morty pulled off with a wet cough. 

"What the fuck?" Morty demanded, wincing when he heard how ragged his own voice was. 

He looked up to glare at Rick and was surprised to find the older man looking up at the ceiling rather than at his invention or down at him. 

"Don't be a pussy. You're the one that wanted to deepthroat it. I was just trying to  — to help you out."  

Morty noticed that Rick's own voice was a bit deeper than he was used to hearing it, his teasing words just the slightest bit breathless, and the knowledge that it was like that because Rick was aroused had his heart pounding. It was enough to make Morty forget, or at least not care, that Rick had forcibly gagged him in his cock a second ago. 

Despite being a little more hesitant than he'd been the first time, Morty still offered Rick his attention in droves. He ran his tongue up and down Rick's spit-slicked cock as he caught his breath, teased the older man with soft lips and what he hoped were teasing touches, and just enough to make Rick's cock strain towards his mouth. It was an astounding display of power, one Morty never thought he could possess over Rick, and he was positive that it'd prove extremely addictive to him. 

But hey, everyone in his family had their vice. 

Morty glanced up at Rick, his lips twisted in a wry smile, and he expected the older man to be watching him. But he wasn't. Rick was still staring up at the ceiling, one hand clutching the counters edge so he wouldn't fall, and Morty felt an unexpected stab of disappointment in his gut. Rick was supposed to be focused on him, watching him wield power, paying attention to him the way he hadn't that first time in the ship, and he wasn't. 

Something akin to indignation rose up in Morty and at a moments notice he was right back on Rick's cock, sucking it into his mouth like it was going out of style. Morty didn't suck with finesse, he was anything but graceful as he slipped his mouth up and down Rick's shaft in wet, sloppy strokes, but he was incredibly enthused. He was eager, rubbing his tongue against Rick's cock, taking him in as deep as he could, pushing in that extra little bit in even though it made him feel like he was going to puke, and his effort wasn't wasted. 

Rick cursed with a groan and slid his fingers back into Morty's curls. The pressure on the back of his skull was a welcome weight and Morty moaned in muffled approval, earning him another groan from Rick. 

"Fuck yeah, babe, just like that. K-k-keep  — keep going."

Morty hollowed out his cheeks as best as he could and stared up at Rick from beneath his lashes. His eyes were squeezed shut, his head tilted back, lips parted in a silent gasp that seemed almost painful, but the old man still hadn't looked at him. Not a single glance, and Morty was starting to feel some unnamed obsession budding to life in the pit of his belly. He wanted Rick to look at him, _ needed it, _ and Morty threw everything he could into overwhelming Rick with pleasure. 

The grip on his hair tightened and suddenly Rick's eyes flew open with a choked out gasp. He felt the older man shove his mouth down and Morty went willingly, trying not to choke as he waited for Rick to come down his throat, but he didn't. Rick stayed perfectly still for a what felt like a long, breathtaking moment before suddenly shattering the moment in a flurried burst of activity. 

Rick hastily grabbed a pen and hunched over his workspace, scratching god knows what on some half sheet of paper at breakneck speed. Morty could barely comprehend what was happening and, by the time his brain caught up, Rick was already halfway down the page. 

Brows pulled together in a pissed off expression of indignance, or, at least as much indignance as  _ anyone _ could have with a cock in their mouth, Morty started to pull off only to have Rick growl in warning and tighten the grip on his curls. 

"Don't fucking move, Morty. I've been working on this piece of shit for three months and this is the first breakthrough I've had in  _ weeks. _ Don't move a fucking muscle.”

Morty whined around Rick's cock, squirming as his body's natural reflex to purge became stronger and stronger, but Rick was relentless. The older man held him down with ease. It shouldn't have turned him on as much as it did, how helpless he really was with Rick. Especially after he'd felt so powerful just a few minutes before. But maybe that was part of it, feeling powerful and like he was finally in control and then having Rick rip the illusion from his fingers without even trying. The teen's stomach lurched at the thought.

With Rick's fingers in his hair, his body partially hunched over the teen's head, and both legs squeezing him on either side, Morty was caged in with nowhere to go. He couldn't pull off, or scoot away. He couldn't do much of anything, really, other than sit there and hold Rick's cock in his mouth. 

The helplessness aspect was certainly appealing, at least to his dick, but Morty still hadn't managed to convince his brain that the sensation wasn't outweighed by fear. 

Morty closed his eyes and made a fist. He'd read somewhere that if you squeezed your thumb in your fist it helped to suppress the gag reflex but, experiencing it first hand, Morty wasn't so sure that the experience wasn't just some bullshit life hack from some crappy website. 

Even without the threat of losing his stomach, Morty could barely breathe. The obstruction of his windpipe and his resulting struggles had brought tears to his eyes, making them burn as little droplets of water cascaded down over his cheeks. Being held still, unable to keep going or pull away, also made Morty more aware of how uncomfortable the position was. Even with the pillow, his knees were protesting the treatment, the head of his aching dick wedged against the seam of his jeans. His jaw hurt from keeping his mouth open so wide and, as the minutes ticked by, the dried tear tracks on his cheeks started to make his skin feel too tight, like it'd crack and split his face wide open if he pulled away and smiled. 

After a few more minutes of inactivity, Rick's cock started to soften up a bit. He was still at least half hard against the teen's tongue but Morty could breathe without too much of a struggle and that alone made it easier to relax and accept the situation for what it was. The boy slumped forward slightly, his lips sliding that much further down the base of Rick's dick, and Morty sighed as best as he could. 

Rick seemed to sense his surrender. The fingers gripping his curls and holding him in place loosened but didn't disappear entirely. Morty vaguely wondered if Rick was offering him a sliver of trust as some sort of test, trying to see if he'd make another attempt to pull away and fight his way out from between the older man's legs, like some corny hostage movie, but Morty didn't rise to the challenge. If there even was one. He didn't move. He stayed right where Rick wanted him, lips nestled into the wild blue pubes that'd enamored him right off the bat, and Rick rewarded him a second later. 

When Morty didn't fight, the pressure holding him down became a gentle weight rather than an aggressive one and Morty whimpered quietly when Rick started petting the back of his head. The action seemed mostly absent-minded, like Rick wasn't even really thinking about it, but Morty supposed he didn't mind. Rick was busy working on his project, scribbling away and stretching to grab things from here and there, tugging objects out of drawers, it didn't concern Morty. 

All he had to do was sit there. 

The lack of pressure or need to think had Morty's eyes falling half-mast. His lips slackened and Morty could've sworn it made Rick still, when his jaw relaxed and his front teeth came to rest gently against the older man's softened cock. Maybe Rick thought he was going to bite him. It was a plausible idea, Rick  _ had _ forced him to keep his dick in his mouth, but the idea seemed completely ludicrous to Morty's fogged over mind. The idea of biting the older man had never even crossed his mind and he hummed quietly to convey that. Though, whether or not Rick got, or even understood, the message was beyond him. 

Morty had no idea how long he sat there. He measured time not with the tick of a clock but by the activity around him. He measured it in hissed out swears and exchanged tools, measured it in numb limbs, wordless sounds of accomplishment, and the weight of his bladder as the moments ticked on. He didn't even question it. He didn't wonder if his parents would be home soon, or if they already were, or if his sister would come looking for them. He didn't think about dinner or homework or even about Rick and their adventures. He just zoned out. 

Drool escaped his lips, dripped down his chin and made an absolute mess of Rick's balls and the edge of his high-backed stool, but Morty paid it no mind. Nothing mattered. Not Earth. Not space. Not even Rick. Nothing. Everything was peaceful and Morty was barely aware of what was happening. 

And then Rick was talking. 

"—ou've got no idea, Morty. This piece of shit has been giving me the run-around for weeks and I was almost ready to launch it into fucking space."

His grandpa's voice sounded high with excitement, almost giddy, and when Morty glanced up and noticed he was sitting back in his chair and that both of his arms were still, he jumped to the conclusion that Rick had finished his project. That or he'd simply finished for the night. Morty wasn't quite sure which one was right but he honestly didn't care either way. 

Still, the teen made a sound of acknowledgement. It was somewhere between a hum and a garbled, half-muffled out expression of support but all Morty could hear was the vowels. It reminded him of that one movie that he couldn't exactly remember. The one with the dude and the gun between his lips. Morty was too far gone to remember his name or the movie title but he  _ did  _ remember the way the guy said you could only talk in vowels when you had a gun shoved down your throat. Ironically enough, at least to Morty, it wasn't only guns that had that effect. 

Rick's fast paced voice broke through Morty's thought and the teen looked up at him once more, suddenly realizing that Rick hadn't stopped talking. 

" — ithout having to drag out those useless fuckin' bots. Know what I mean, Morty? I mean, even yours wanted to run in a goddamn stream, can you believe that? Robots always try to get sentient. Dunno what it is, a Morty, I really don't, but they've got a hard-on for emotions."

Morty’s gaze was trained on Rick, watching the way he wiped sweat off his brow and let his arms fall heavily to the workbench, his lips curling up in a self-pleased smirk as he shook his head. Morty wasn't sure why but the small collection of actions had his mouth watering, and suddenly Morty's entire focus was on Rick. 

"This baby is gonna sweep all that shit under the rug." Rick proudly proclaimed, grinning at the mysterious invention in front of him as he took a swig from his flask. "Gonna hook this — this baby up and your mom and your dumb dad will never know the difference."

Even with a cock in his mouth Morty was interested enough to try and ask what it did, not that his muffled words sounded like much of anything. Somehow Rick seemed to understand him though because the older man looked down at him with an annoyed scowl. 

"Jesus, Morty, were you even listening? I'm not just saying this shit to hear myself talk, fuck."

That was a lie, but Morty didn't call him out on it. He just kept looking up at Rick, waiting, and eventually the older man sighed like it physically pained him, rolled his eyes, and started talking. 

"As I said before, _ Morty," _ Rick began, putting as much irritated emphasis on his name as he possibly could. "It's a hologram. I mean, not  _ just _ a hologram, any dipshit that knows anything about light can make one of those, but this one is interactive. I'm not — not gonna try and explain the science to you. Waste of my time. Blah blah hard-light, blah blah resistant particles, matter phobic, whatever. It'll totally keep your parents off our backs, dawg."

What Rick was saying made absolutely no sense to Morty and that must've shown because Rick pinched the bridge of his nose with another sigh a moment later. Sometimes Morty felt bad that Rick had to explain everything to him but, most times, like now, he was just annoyed that his grandpa was gifted with such an incredible mind when at least two thirds of his dick was crammed into his personality. 

"It talks, Morty." He finally said. "When we're gone, it'll come on and look and sound just like your dumb little ass. It will avoid touching any organic matter so nobody should notice. I mean, maybe Summer or your mom, but your dumb dad definitely won't be able to tell the difference."

Even with the insults Morty was able to understand the concept and the relevance to their lives and he hummed excitedly in response. A small flush colored his cheeks when Rick groaned softly and tipped his head back for a moment and Morty was once again reminded that he had  _ Rick's cock _ in his mouth. 

That initial sense of power returned tenfold. Rick was no longer holding him down, no longer busy or preventing him from doing whatever he wanted and, as if he were starting over from the beginning, Morty started bobbing his head on Rick's soft cock. 

"W-what the fuck are you— _Ohhhhh..."_ Rick moaned and laid a hand on the back of Morty's head once more as he closed his eyes and tilted his face up toward the ceiling. "Christ, baby, yeah. Suck gran — suck my cock."

The idea that Rick was about to call himself 'grandpa,' effectively shoving the ugly truth of their morally fucked up tryst back in front of both their faces and acknowledging just  _ who _ was sucking him off had Morty moaning around Rick's cock like a common street whore and he wished Rick wouldn't have corrected himself. The teen heard a hiss up above him and Rick's fingers delved deeper into his curls, but the older man didn't grab hold of them. The weight of his hand was still pleasant. Somewhat assertive, but he wasn't pushing or forcing Morty's head down and that made the younger man feel all the more powerful. 

It wasn't long before Rick was completely hard and Morty was going ham on his dick. His jaw was aching, saliva everywhere, and Morty didn't try to be anything close to graceful. He just sucked. He sucked and licked a path up and down Rick's shaft, taking him in as deeply as he could each time, and when Rick stood up and held the back of his head while he thrust his cock in and out of his mouth, Morty didn't protest a bit. He held himself still, gagging and choking, gasping wetly for each breath, but he let Rick use him as he wanted. 

A reward for completing his invention. Or maybe just a desperate cry for attention. 

Either way, Morty still didn't get what he wanted in the end. Rick held his eyes shut the entire time, pounding away at the teen's mouth without ever seeing his face, and even though Morty wanted to make himself known and force Rick to acknowledge him, he did nothing. He simply sat back on his heels and took what he was given, ignoring the tears streaming down his face and the bitterness of Rick's load against his tongue as he silently thought about how, even though so much had changed, nothing had. 

Whether out in space on an adventure or in the garage getting his face fucked, Morty was still desperate for Rick to notice him. And, just like before, Rick couldn't be bothered to care. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art done by https://shameless-display.tumblr.com! They were a true joy to work with, especially since I'm a shamelessly big fan. Pun intended lol I really couldn't have asked for better. Thank you so much for helping bring this scene to life, Shameless, and I hope we end up working together on more collaborations in the future <3


	3. Chapter 3

Something had changed between them since their encounter in the garage. Rick didn't say anything about it, and neither did Morty, but somehow that moment had acted as a catalyst, launching them both into a sexual relationship that Morty couldn't even begin to wrap his head around. 

They still hadn't gone all the way but, after all the things they  _ had _ done, Morty was finding it harder and harder to actually think of himself as a virgin. 

Everywhere. They did it fucking  _ everywhere. _ He'd originally thought that Rick might end up being the type to be stingy about giving rather than receiving but, within the first  _ day _ after their encounter in the garage, he'd been proven wrong. Rick seemed to have a sixth sense for when Morty had a boner and wanted to do something about it, whether it was inconvenient or not, and the older man didn't seem to have any problem making that a reality for him. 

That wasn't to say that Rick didn't roll his eyes or give him those sharp, piercing,  _ Seriously? Again? _ looks from time to time, because he did. Frequently. But he still gave Morty what he wanted in the end. He still dragged him over to suck him off or reached over to tug his dick out of his jeans for easy access or shoved those magnificent fingers up his ass. And Morty was in a fairly similar boat. He didn't even have to guess like Rick did. Rick just flat out told him what he wanted. He told Morty to get on his knees or to get him off while he worked or, in one particularly memorable occasion, to jerk himself off where Rick could listen to him, and Morty did it without question, eager to reciprocate and touch his grandpa. 

But that didn't mean things were all sunshine and roses as far as Morty was concerned. 

Despite having gotten what he wanted, there were still things they  _ didn't _ do. Rick refused to kiss him. He'd learned that the hard way, along with not trying to talk to Rick about their relationship and what it meant. Both had earned him a week of the cold shoulder and no sexual encounters to boot. They never did anything that put them face-to-face. No frotting, no dick-to-dick hand jobs, nothing that forced Morty's face into Rick's line of vision or made it impossible for him to detach and ignore who he was touching or getting touched by, and Morty hated it. 

He'd made it his personal mission to break Rick and  _ force _ the man to see him. He'd looked up some tricks in a couple magazines, put on a little show, moaning and whining as much as he could get away with, he'd even gasped Rick's name, but the older man wouldn't budge. No matter what Morty did, no matter what he tried, he hadn't gotten any closer to Rick noticing him and it was starting to take its toll.

And, unfortunately for Morty, that wasn't the only thing weighing heavy on him. 

The sexual aspect of their relationship wasn't the only thing that'd changed between them. Rick was more withdrawn than ever. They still did things together. They went on adventures, went to Blips and Chitz, watched Ball Fondlers and Gazorpazorpfield and The Adventures of Stealy on the couch late at night, just like they used to before, but there was a certain distance between them now. 

Rick was closed off. He was usually closed off anyway, that was just how he was and Morty accepted that, but now it was worse than ever. Rick used to talk to him when they did things together, share stupid, insignificant memories from his past or little anecdotes about other adventures he had before Morty came into his life, and that was gone now. Rick still laughed, still joked around, but it felt like it was from a distance. And it was starting to trickle over into their work. 

Rick didn't ask for his help in the garage anymore. If Morty was in there with him, it was usually for sex. Or because he stubbornly insisted on being closer to Rick. Not that it helped any. Rick didn't ask for his help when he was there. He didn't ask Morty to grab his tools, or make him food, or any of the other purposes he'd served before. He drank more than ever, mumbled to himself, and wouldn't even spare Morty a second glance unless he was ordering the teen down onto his knees. 

Things were somewhat better in the house. Rick still sat next to him at the dinner table and when they watched TV. They chatted, nudged each other, gave knowing glances. But it felt hollow, like a performance they were putting on for their family, convincing them all that everything was still fine and normal as can be, and Morty was starting to hate those interactions more than he did the growing silence. 

He felt trapped. With every advancement in their sexual relationship came the sacrifice of something Morty valued between himself and Rick. He'd hoped that, by introducing sex, their relationship would get stronger, that it'd evolve and he wouldn't feel as lonely or pathetic as he usually did when they were camped out on Earth between adventures, but that wasn't how things had turned out. 

Morty felt more alone than ever. 

Every encounter with Rick left him feeling dirty and used, even when he was on the receiving end. With every stab at grabbing Rick's attention, every failed attempt at getting the man to look at him during sex or acknowledge who he was with, Morty fell deeper and deeper into depression. He was running out of ideas, and Rick's lack of offered support or the platonic intimacy they used to share wasn't helping that at all. Morty was starting to lose more than he gained, and the growing distance between them was dragging Morty even further into the existential crisis he'd been dealing with since that terrible day at school. 

Sex with Rick was supposed to make things  _ better. _ It was supposed to fill the gaps and make it even more obvious to him that his true place was in outer space with Rick, fighting and dealing drugs and stealing, but it'd done the opposite. Without Rick, without the easy-going friendship they shared and the way they used to interact, Morty felt more awkward on their adventures than he ever had. Rick didn't need him as much, he didn't ask for his help as often, and when they  _ were  _ out and about, Morty was forced to recognize that Rick didn't  _ need _ him. The older man was entirely capable of doing things on his own, with or without Morty, and Morty was starting to think that maybe he'd been wrong before. 

Maybe he  _ did _ belong on Earth. Maybe the multiverse just wasn't for him, or, at least this  _ version _ of him, and he was just wasting his time. 

Rick didn't need him, didn't seem to want him now outside of their sexual trysts, and Morty didn't know how to cope with the loss. He wanted things to go back to normal, or, at least as normal as they could be. He wanted to laugh and joke around with Rick like they did before. He wanted Rick to  _ want _ him, to desire his company and ask for his help again and make Morty feel like he had a place beside the man that meant everything to him, but he was also greedy. 

Morty wanted to have his cake and eat it too. Between the two, he would've given up sex with Rick in return for the relationship they had before, but Morty knew that wasn't possible and, because of that, he wasn't as willing to just sign off on giving up what he'd already gained. He wanted the platonic aspect of their friendship, but he also wanted the sex. He was so greedy that he wanted even more than he had before, more than he had now, and it'd gotten to the point where Morty was utterly convinced that he could have it all if only he could just get Rick to see him during sex. 

If Rick would just look at him, notice him,  _ acknowledge _ him, then everything would be fine. Somehow it'd all go back to normal. Rick would open up again, at least a little, and they could expand their sexual horizons and their lives would go back to normal. It made no sense, at least it wouldn't have made sense to anyone else, but Morty was convinced that it was the true. It had to be. 

For the sake of his sanity, Morty refused to believe anything else, and, in the dead of night, he plotted. 

 

* * *

  
  


It took nine days and six more failed attempts before Morty started to reach the end of his rope. He was running out of ideas and the lack of progress was starting to leave him dismayed. 

Frustrated by his latest failed attempt  — this one trashed before he was ever able to execute it when Rick shooed him away, claiming he was too busy for Morty's horny teenage bullshit  — the brunet stepped into the shower and cranked the knob on his left. After an unpleasant burst of icy water, heat poured from the shower head. Its temperature was nearly unpleasant, but Morty didn't bother to fix it. He just leaned forward with a sigh and pressed his damp forehead to the tiled wall. Water cascaded down his back, raining down into the tub in thick, loud streams, but the boy ignored that too, wracking his brain for more ideas. 

Rick didn't really seem like the sort to have moral hangups. In fact, Morty knew he wasn't. Morty was well acquainted with his grandpa's moral sensibilities, or lack there of, and he knew that the older man was generally quick to succumb to temptation. No matter how fucked up the means to the end. Rick was far more used to getting what he wanted than not, and Morty knew that all too well. But when it came to whatever the hell they were doing, the older man seemed to have an ironclad will. Aside from that minor slip in the garage where he almost called himself grandpa, Rick hadn't budged once. He hadn't slipped up, hadn't pushed for more, hadn't done anything but treat their sexual relationship like a convenient way to scratch a mutual itch. 

The detached behavior left a bad taste in Morty mouth and the teen thoughtlessly lifted his head, letting the steamy water spray him directly in the face. Morty parted his lips and let the clear liquid cascade down over his lips, dripping into his mouth and over his tongue. It didn't help any, the bad taste was still there, but Morty at least had the illogical benefit of feeling like he'd at least tried to do something about it. 

Morty sighed and thought back to Rick.

He was more than frustrated by the man's lack of attention. Their encounters were staring to remind Morty way to much of those shitty Gay for Pay pornos, except the issue wasn't something even remotely as simple as gender. Morty knew Rick had absolutely no issue with  him not being female. No, apparently it was just the fact that the person trying to fuck him also happened to be his grandson. 

Morty dipped his head and stared down at the clear, anti-slip mat suction-cupped to the bottom of his tub. 

For most people, that made sense. Incest seemed like a fairly realistic limit but Morty wasn't entirely sure that applied to Rick. Compared to some of the things he'd done, fucking a family member didn't seem all that bad in the grand scheme of things, at least not to Morty. He'd heard about quite a few of Rick's more scandalous conquests when the older man was drunk and looking to brag and, compared to at least one or two things he'd heard straight from Rick's own mouth, dipping his dick in his own flesh and blood didn't seem all that bad. It certainly wasn't tame, but Morty wasn't so sure someone like Rick could label it as extreme either.  _ Obviously _ since Rick had already fucked around with him multiple times, but what was his issue? Why was looking at him such a big deal? Could he really not stomach the idea of who he was with? And, if that was the case, why hadn't he just said no and found some other willing body to satisfy his needs? 

Rick was many things but he was rarely accommodating, especially if it meant doing something he didn't want to. Rick obviously wanted to fuck him, he just didn't want to fuck  _ him, _ as if that made any sense. 

Morty sighed and turned his back on the downpour of water with a huff, shivering as the heat found his back once more. The steady pressure against his aching shoulders was divine and Morty momentarily thought back to the day before as he reached for some of his sister's body wash, trying to ignore the frustrated mindset he was slipping into. 

Even though it definitely wasn't one of Morty's better moments, he'd gotten captured on a mission gone awry and, while the aliens didn't kill him right off the bat, they'd still strung up by his arms as bait and blindfolded him. It took Rick a little less than an hour to locate and save him but Morty could still remember the way Rick took a advantage of the situation and jerked him off while he was still hanging by a hook. 

The older man left him blindfolded for the entire thing but, as Morty trailed his soapy hands up and down his body, he imagined that Rick had drank him in while Morty wasn't able to see. He imagined Rick staring at him, watching his lips tremble and his arms shake as the older man stroked his cock slow and steady. 

Morty was already hard and well on his way to reaching down with soapy fingers to take himself in hand when he was startled out of his fantasy by someone pounding on the bathroom door. 

"Morty! Hurry up!" Summer cried in a shrill voice from the other side. "Mom and dad are getting ready to leave and I still need to wash my face and do my make-up! You've been in there forever!" 

"It hasn't been that long!" Morty cried back indignantly. "Can't you just wait?" 

Summer responded by pounding on the door once more and jiggling the handle ominously, even though it was locked, and Morty took that as a hard no. He looked down at his flagging erection with a frown and sighed again for what felt like the millionth time. 

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going!" He hollered, grumbling quietly to himself as he rinsed off and stepped out. 

Morty didn't even bother drying himself off. He couldn't see through walls but the teen could practically feel Summer waiting on the other side of the door so he just wrapped himself in a towel and retreated to his room, pausing only to flip off the bathroom door when Summer hustled into it and slammed the door behind her. 

Holing himself up in his room, Morty immediately laid his damp towel out on the bed and flopped onto it with a sigh. 

It didn't really matter that he'd been Interrupted. It was probably a bad idea anyway, fantasizing about a memory that hadn't happened the way he wanted it to. Rick's will seemed unshakable and Morty highly doubted that Rick had paid him a lick of attention as he got him off the other day. Imagining that he had was pointless. 

But still...

The idea did things to him. It made desire pool in the bottom of Morty's belly and he couldn't stop thinking about Rick watching him. 

The idea affected him just as quickly as it had the last time and Morty was about to reach for his interested cock a second time when his dad knocked on his door and started speaking through it before Morty could cover up or tell him not to come in. 

"Your mom and I are going to the movies with Summer. Don't go on any crazy adventures with Rick, okay? You've got school in the morning."

Morty sighed and released his dick, pulling part of the towel over his lap just in case his dad decided to come on. 

"Okay, dad, I won't. Have fun with mom a-and Summer."

Jerry didn't say anything else so Morty assumed he'd left and the teen immediately flicked the towel aside once more and looked down at his dick, wondering if it was even worth it to try and get off. He wasn't all that horny and it wouldn't kill him to just ignore it but Morty was bored and he didn't really have any reason _ not _ to jack off. Worst came to worst, his orgasm would be mediocre and he'd forget about it ten minutes after he was done. 

Morty wasn't sure what it said about his character that that was enough of a reason for him but he decided not to spend too much time thinking about his own shortcomings. It'd only stress him out and, if the past month or so was anything to go on, it'd probably lead back to Rick somehow. He'd spend enough time drowning in crisis lately and that seemed like reason enough to jerk off and avoid his thoughts. 

The teen chuckled to himself and reached down with a lazy hand to start stroking his partially interested length. His strokes were slow and a little on the choppy side, like his heart just wasn't in it, but Morty couldn't seem to bring forth the energy to make it any better. It just wasn't the same. Touching himself felt good enough, it's not like it was shitty, but Morty knew it could be better and _ that _ was the kicker. After experiencing Rick's hands and his mouth and those stupidly long fingers, his own hands just weren't enough anymore and Morty wasn't satisfied. 

A light bulb suddenly popped into existence above Morty's head. 

_ It wasn't enough. He wasn't satisfied. _

The words repeated themselves over and over again inside Morty's head and, as they did, a new plan started to come together right before his eyes. It was stupid and maybe a little too simple but Morty had a feeling that there would be no way Rick could resist. 

 

* * *

  
  


After about forty-five minutes of work, the term 'not enough' seemed burned into Morty's brain. 

His body was slick with sweat, his thighs trembling from keeping him propped up in such an awkward position, and Morty was panting into his pillow as he finally wiggled a third, lube covered finger inside of himself. It always seemed so easy when Rick did it. He was almost always squirming and begging for it by the time Rick got around to pushing that third one in but, by himself, Morty now realized just how skilled his grandpa really was with his hands. 

The entire process was messy and awkward, bending at odd angles, trying not to accidentally suffocate himself to death in the pillow as he kneeled, ass up and face down, in the blankets with his hands back behind him. His sheets were ruined, stained with stray droplets and big smears of lube. Not to mention the big puddle of jizz he'd just added to the mix. 

But he was finally ready. 

After opening himself up, fingering his little hole until his muscles were relaxed enough to take three fingers with ease, Morty was positive that he could take Rick's dick without too much of an issue. He was already open, wet and sticky inside and out with an excessive amount of lube, and running on the sort of confidence that comes with over analyzing a situation beyond death. There really wasn't any better time to put his half-cocked plan into action. 

Morty stood from his bed on shaky legs. He felt like some baby fawn, barely able to stand on his own, but when he looked in the mirror, Morty decided that it was all worth it. Even to his own self conscious eye, the teen had to admit that he looked pretty damn good. 

His curls were a riotous mess, sticking up here and there, mashed down in other, more random spots. It looked like he'd just gotten fucked, or maybe like he just rolled out of bed, but combined with his glassy eyes, flushed face, and the way his dick stood at attention even after he'd already come once, he looked like the perfect little slut. It had to be enough to entice Rick. And, if it wasn't, well. Then he still had plan B. 

Slipping out of his bedroom, Morty tiptoed to the top of the stairs and glanced down. He was pleased to note that Rick was lounging on the couch, watching some show instead of working out in the garage. That would make it a lot easier seeing as how Rick had said no earlier due to being busy. If the old man was relaxing instead of slaving away over his stupid science, Morty knew his enticing appearance would simply be a bonus rather than a lure for Rick's attention. Morty heart fluttered. 

He slipped down the stairs with ease and slinked into the living room, trying to look innocent and coy rather than devious, even though it felt like his intentions were plastered all over his face. 

Rick turned to look at him the moment he entered and the older man's eyes widened. Morty wasn't sure if that's because he looked attractive or because Rick was surprised to see him naked in the living room where anyone could walk in and see but, either way, it sent a thrill through him and Morty's confidence rose. So much so that he wasn't the least bit bothered when Rick turned his attention back to the TV and proceeded to avoid looking at him. 

"What do you want, Morty?" Rick grumbled, flicking the channel to some Rick based housing show. "I told you already, I don't have time for your needy bullshit."

Morty captured his bottom lip between his teeth and took a few steps forward, feeling his heart pick up speed when he caught Rick eyeing him from his peripherals. The glance was gone in a flash and Rick was right back to watching his show but Morty had still seen it and the attention was starting to make him harden up even more than he already was. 

"I know, Rick, and I tried to do it myself but it just  _ wasn't enough." _ Morty plopped down on the edge of the couch, just barely managing to avoid grimacing at the squishy feeling inside of him. He hoped that the lube wouldn't leak out and leave a big mark in the couch but he didn't care enough to get up and check, especially not when he noticed just how tense Rick looked. "I tried to finger myself but it's not as good as when you do it. You're just so much better and I was getting frustrated. P-p-please, Rick. Help me?" 

Cool, blue eyes turned away from the TV screen to look at him and, as Morty watched Rick's eyes rake up and down his body, he knew that he'd get his way. Rick might have been annoyed by his whiny tone or how needy he was, but Morty knew Rick well enough to know that all he had to do to manipulate the older man was make it a matter of pride. If he told Rick he didn't think the older man could do something, Rick would do it, just to prove him wrong. If he said he couldn't do something, or even that he didn't want to because Rick was better at it, nine times out of ten Rick would undoubtedly succumb to whatever it was just to make sure Morty knew just how much better at it Rick really was. 

The man was complicated but not  _ that  _ complicated, so when Rick sighed and reached out to grab the back of Morty's neck, Morty let himself be tugged down onto his side with a devilish grin. 

"Whatever, you little shit" Rick acquiesced, "just don't interrupt my show."

Morty nodded eagerly and set to work on the second phase of his plan, rubbing his cheek and one of his palms against Rick's crotch through the older man's slacks. 

"I won't, Rick. Promise!" He said. 

His tone was excited and purposefully breathless but that quickly became more than an act when Rick reached back and pushed two fingers into his slick, opened hole, pulling a very real moan from Morty's lips. 

"Jesus, Morty. Think you used enough lube?" Rick criticized, shoving his fingers in deeper. 

Morty whined and squirmed against Rick's hand, rocking with him as the older man rhythmically pushed them in and out. The words were spoken with no small amount of condescension, but Rick rarely ever said his name when he was already touching him so the teen took it as a point in his favor and let himself enjoy the attention as it was. 

It also helped that Rick wasn't unaffected by what was going on. Whether he'd planned for it not, Rick was getting harder by the second, obviously turned on by the sounds Morty was making and the way he was squirming on the couch, and that just made it all the better for Morty. It was beyond difficult not to just reach down and start touching himself but he knew he'd probably come in less than a minute if he did and, while appealing, that wasn't part of the plan. 

His strength of will was put to the test though. Rick wasn't in any hurry. For all intents and purposes, Rick was calm and relaxed, sucked into his show and not even remotely interested in being bothered by Morty's whining. He must have fingered him for close to fifteen minutes before he finally let go of the arm of the couch to unbuckle his pants and free his rock hard erection with a pleased sigh. 

Morty's heart raced with nervous excitement and, even though he was anxious and a little afraid, he pushed forward with his plan. 

Whining desperately, the teen pulled away from Rick's fingers, whimpering as the long, spidery digits slipped free of his body, leaving him empty and aching to be full again.

"It's still not enough," Morty groaned.

He stood from the couch on shaky legs and, before Rick could protest or do much if anything, Morty sat in his lap. He was smart enough not to try and face Rick, knowing that would put an end to things right away, but having his back to Rick's chest felt intimate enough anyway and he mewled when the older man's hard shaft pressed against his opened ass. 

"Morty, what the fuck do you — " 

The teen cut him off, saying, "I-I won't interrupt y-y-your  — your show, Rick. Just sit there a-and I'll do all the work."

Neither of them mentioned the insane line they were crossing as Morty rubbed his ass against Rick's shaft. Neither of them mentioned the fact that this was Morty's first time or that they'd specifically avoided this very thing during the entire extent of their sexual relationship. They both just let it happen, breathing heavily as Morty pushed his hips back like a wanton whore, moaning desperately as the head of Rick's cock kept pressing in against his loosened hole. 

Finally, the teen couldn't take it anymore. Plan or no plan, he was horny as hell and Rick's cock was  _ right there. _

Biting his lip almost to the point of drawing blood, Morty reached down and positioned Rick's length where he wanted it. Trying to sit on the hard shaft was a little more awkward than he imagined and Morty nearly bit through his own lip when he finally went about pushing the head inside, but it was entirely worth it to hear the ragged gasp from behind him when it finally popped in and the sheer, unadulterated fullness he felt as he slid down his grandpa's length with a low, keening moan. 

He couldn't stop himself from trembling as Rick bottomed out inside of him. Morty thought he was ready, he thought he'd be entirely prepared from all the fingering, but that didn't change the fact that Rick felt  _ huge _ inside of him. His cock was so much different than either of their fingers, hot and thick and so fucking perfect for filling him up. Morty was in awe of it, overwhelmed by the ache of being stretched so wide, and he collapsed back against Rick's chest, panting for breath as he tried to adjust. 

Still, Morty had a plan, and even overwhelmed and horny beyond belief, he still took notice of the way Rick's fingers were like claws digging into the arm of the chair. Morty clenched around him for good measure. 

"C'mon, baby," Rick murmured, startling the teen, "bounce on it for me."

A hot, wet tongue glided over the shell of Morty's ear and the shiver that ran down his spine bordered on violent. Rick's rough, husky voice was so much of a turn on and Morty was eager to follow his suggestion and do as the older man asked. Rick's request felt like a sort of victory, like he was making headway, and even if he hadn't wanted the exact same thing, Morty would've put himself to work simply because Rick asked. 

Bracketing his shins on either side of Rick's thighs, Morty experimentally pushed up, as though he were trying to kneel instead of sitting back on his heels, and he gasped as Rick's shaft slid halfway out of his body. It was weird and intimidating and  _ utterly divine. _ Before he knew it, Morty was eagerly fucking himself on Rick's cock, moaning like a needy slut with almost every single stroke. 

It was fucking wonderful, feeling Rick inside of him, filling him up and moving in and out of his ass, but it still wasn't enough. It wasn't  _ nearly _ enough, and when Morty glanced back and caught sight of Rick staring intently at the TV, holding onto the couch in a death grip, he really put his back into it. Rick had to be close to breaking, he just had to be, and even though he could always try again, somehow it felt like this was his last chance. If this didn't get Rick's attention, Morty didn't know what would. So he threw everything into it and cast aside his pride and dignity as though they meant nothing at all. 

He didn't have to fake it as he fell back against Rick's chest once more, panting hard and feeling the strain on his thighs. Morty gyrated his hips, clenching down around Rick's shaft, and even though he knew it might have been a risk, he turned his head and started pressing kisses to Rick's neck and the side of his jaw as he let filth pour from his lips. 

"Your cock feels so good inside of me," Morty panted, nipping Rick's earlobe and moving his hips in tight circles when the older man hissed, "It's so big a-a-and I can feel it stirring up my insides.  _ Fuck, Rick." _

Morty started to bounce once more but the movements were shallow and quick, not nearly enough to get either of them off. 

_ "Grandpa," _ Morty whimpered, closing his eyes as he pushed down hard against Rick's dick. 

He yelped in startled alarm when a hand was suddenly gripping his face, covering his mouth and preventing him from speaking. Morty looked up at Rick as best as he could and felt his heart pound aggressively against the backs of his ribs when he met Rick's darkened gaze. 

"Don't fucking push it. I won't hesitate to throw your stupid ass off." His grandpa warned, giving his face a squeeze, and Morty nodded in understanding. 

He was so fucking close to gaining Rick's attention. The old man already fucked up and cracked when he looked at him, spidering those cracks even further as he talked and addressed him directly, and Morty knew it wouldn't take much more. He just had to do more, to try harder, and he'd finally get everything he wanted. 

The moment Rick's hand came up off his mouth, Morty sat up and started riding his grandpa like it was the last thing he'd ever do. Even though he was tired and his legs were aching, trembling from the strain, he still bounced on Rick's cock like both of their lives depended on it and he put absolutely everything he had into the performance. He threw his head back, narrowly avoiding cracking Rick in the nose, and became even more vocal with his enjoyment, all but crying out as he moaned so shamelessly for Rick. His mouth was fucking filthy as he pinched and tugged at his own nipples, dragging rough, bitten nails down his belly in search of sensation, his voice rising in pitch until he sounded almost girly, but Rick still wasn't breaking and Morty was right on the edge. He knew he wouldn't be able to take it much longer without coming so, he slowed down and tried his best to tease. 

Rising up onto his knees, Morty leaned forward as far as he could and swiveled his hips, rocking and seeking until the head of Rick's cock finally rubbed up against his prostate. The teen moaned, low and excited, and started bouncing on the top third of Rick's shaft. If the groan behind him meant anything, Morty knew that it wasn't nearly as satisfying to his grandpa as it was to him, but Morty ignored Rick's unspoken complaint and kept right on going. He rubbed the little gland mercilessly, cries pouring from his lips unimpeded as Rick's cock pushed against it just right, and Morty could feel the tension in Rick's body rising, ready to shatter at any second and give them both what they really wanted. His plans came crashing down when Rick unexpectedly growled Morty's name and finally reached for him, grabbing both of his hips with unforgiving fingers. The shock of that made Morty lose his balance, sinking him down onto Rick's cock, hard and merciless, without warning, and all was lost. 

The teen cried out in unexpected pleasure when he was suddenly filled and, as close to the edge as he was, that's all it took to send him over. 

Morty's hand flew to his cock and he rapidly started jerking himself off as his orgasm crested. Rick's name spilled from his lips, shrill and high pitched, as he shot his load onto the carpet in front of them and Morty immediately slumped back against his partner, panting for breath as he waded through an ocean of endorphins. 

Supreme disappointed was quick to cut through his enjoyment. It flowed through Morty's veins like acid, eating away at his afterglow until he felt nothing but disappointment. He hadn't managed to break Rick. He found a few cracks in his armor but, ultimately, his plan hadn't worked, and failure started to settle in the pit of Morty's stomach like lead. 

But he wasn't out if ideas just yet. 

There was one more card left up his sleeve and, desperate and obviously out of options, Morty decided to try and make it work. 

Without pausing to re-think his actions, Morty slid smoothly off Rick's lap. The teen congratulated himself for startling Rick enough to make the old man release him without even seeming to realize it, not to mention his miraculous ability not to avoid collapsing right off the bat, and he moaned as he stretched, turning back to Rick with a smile. 

The older man looked crazed, his eyes blazing with lust and barely restrained fury at Morty's insolence. Every muscle in his body was tighter than a guitar string ready to snap and his cock was standing at attention, glistening with lube, hard to the point where it was curving near the tip, flushed an insanely attractive dark red, and Morty prayed that what he was about to do worked. 

"Thanks, Rick." He murmured dreamily, "That was exactly what I needed."

He turned away and prepared to walk back toward the stairs on shaky legs, making it obvious that he was going to leave Rick high and dry, when the older man jumped up with a snarl. 

"I don't fucking think so, Morty." Rick growled, grabbing him painfully by the wrist. 

Excitement flowed through Morty like a bursting dam and the thrill of victory rang through him, but when Rick grabbed the back of his neck and suddenly shoved him face down in the couch, everything evaporated like smoke in a breeze. 

"You think you're so fucking clever, don't you, Morty?" Rick sneered. He positioned himself over the teen, ignoring the way Morty squirmed in protest, holding him even tighter when Morty tried to turn over, and the teen cried over when Rick plunged back inside of him. 

The older man was utterly brutal as he fucked him and Morty could feel the tears pooling in his eyes. It was overwhelming, the pleasure of Rick's strokes drifting further and further into the realm of pain with every thrust, and Morty couldn't stop the hiccuped sobs that bubbled to his lips when Rick zeroed in in his prostate and ruthlessly fucked him. 

This wasn't what he wanted! He wanted Rick to look at him, to see him and want him, not use his body as a fleshlight while he shoved his face into the cushions! He wanted to be acknowledged! He wanted Rick to fuck  _ him, _ not his body, and he'd been so fucking close! And now Rick was punishing him. At least that's what it felt like. The older man was glaring holes in the back of his head, snarling out lectures about what happened to cock teasing sluts, calling Morty all number of filthy things, saying his name constantly, but he wasn't looking at him. Or, at the very least, Morty couldn't tell if he was. He'd forced them into a position where Morty couldn't look at him, and where he could stare at Morty all he wanted without Morty knowing and without having to look at his face. The emotional devastation of that powered the sobs wracking his body more than the brutal, pulverizing thrusts or the pain of Rick's bony, pelvic cradle slapping his ass over and over and over. 

Eventually Morty stopped squirming. He stopped fighting, stopped trying to turn over or see Rick, he just took what the older man gave him, crying out into the couch as his grandpa drove into him like a mad man. It was all but a surprise when his third orgasm of the night slammed into him, wrenching a scream from between his lips as the overstimulated pain eclipsed pleasure by a long shot, and Morty started to fight once more when Rick  _ kept going. _

His throat hurt and his cries were shrill with agonized pleasure, his body spasming around Rick's cock with aftershocks from his orgasm, and, in less than a minute, Rick drive his cock as deeply into Morty body as possible and came inside of him with a snarled out growl of completion. 

Morty collapsed onto the sweat soaked cushions. He was dazed and breathing raggedly. Tired to the bone. He whimpered when Rick pulled out, immediately mourning the loss as emptiness took over. The teen turned his head, cheek pressed to the cushion, and was surprised when he glanced up and found Rick already staring at him. He older man looked incredible. He was breathing heavily, smeared ejaculated dripping from his softening cock, sweat soaked hair plastered to his flushed face, but his his brow was furrowed and a frown marred his lips, ruining the image of a pleased afterglow. Morty wished he would've been smirking, that he'd have that knowing glint in his eye or that he'd open his mouth to tease him about what a little bitch he was when he got fucked. But Rick just stood there, staring at him with a frown, and Morty's heart clenched. 

He made an effort to reach for the older man, desperate for some form of connection after experiencing something so intense, but Rick ignored the gesture. He spun on heel, ignoring the hurt sound Morty made when he did, and stalked through the house naked, disappearing into the garage and slamming the door behind him. 


	4. Chapter 4

Morty stared down at his cereal, pushing the mushy, overly saturated pieces of grain around his bowl in an effort to pass time until they became inedible. It'd been two days since the disastrous encounter with Rick and Morty still didn't have much of an appetite. Food tasted bland against his tongue, unappealing and woefully disappointing, just like what'd happened, and Morty couldn't swallow any of it down.    
  
Rick said something beside him, animated and entirely unput-off by his own food as he chatted with their family, probably his mom by the sound of things, and Morty stomach rolled. Rick was the same as he'd always been. After storming off and barricading himself in the garage for a few hours, he'd emerged perfectly at ease, indifferent attitude and flat expression intact and on display. It made Morty sick to his stomach, knowing that he'd been so affected when Rick obviously wasn't, and the fact that he was still fine, talking and gesturing and laughing beside the boy that he'd ruined, made Morty want to puke.   
  
Emotion tightened his throat and Morty knew that even pretending to enjoy his breakfast had become a lost cause. He could barely swallow down his own spit past the knot in his throat, let alone anything more substantial, so he didn't even try.    
  
His parents exchanged a worried look when he rose from the table, one that Morty missed entirely as he made his way into the kitchen. Depression settled in like an old friend. Morty watched his own actions through a disassociated gaze as he scraped an entire bowl of wasted Cheerios into the garbage disposal.    
  
The teen dropped the now empty bowl into the sink without a care and slipped back through the dining room, making a beeline toward the stairs and trying not to catch anyone's eye. It must have been a testament to how bad he looked that his parents didn't voice a single protest about him trudging back upstairs even though it was Monday and he should've been leaving for school. Morty honestly didn't know whether to be grateful or worried about the painfully awkward talk that would probably come at some point when one of them tried to get him to open up about what was bothering him.    
  
Morty grimaced at the thought and sped up the stairs.    
  
How could he possibly explain? It wasn't like he could tell them about Rick or their weird, fucked up relationship or the fact that Rick was a total asshole. Not that they didn't already know about that last bit. But the rest seemed hopeless. He couldn't tell them. He couldn't tell  _ anyone  _ — not that he really had anyone  _ to _ tell  —  but that didn’t stop Morty from being entirely lost on how to handle his parents eventual intervention.  

  
He thought about trying to make it seem like someone else, some nameless girl at his school, but talking about some pretend relationship seemed like more effort than it was worth. It'd probably open the door to a whole bunch of questions that he didn't have answers for and, on the off chance that they actually cared enough to ask Summer about it, he knew there wouldn't be anything to back up his claims.   
  
He couldn't even redirect the issue and try and talk to them about how confused he was about _Earth_ _—_  a confusion that'd grown exponentially since he initially freaked out about it during his test. He couldn't possibly look his parents in the face and tell them that he didn't know if life on Earth was really for him. It would devastate his mom. He could already see the pinched look of pain on her face and he could imagine the bender that'd probably follow. And his dad, well, his dad would probably just get offended, defensive and beyond obvious as he rattled on about how there was nothing wrong with working a nine to five. But, the issue was, Morty didn't _want_ to work a nine to five. He didn't _want_ to be stuck in some stuffy office, kissing his boss' ass and pretending for a bunch of co-workers that he secretly disliked. He didn't want to be trapped on Earth doing something he hated. Or even something he _liked._ Morty wanted to be out in _space,_ exploring and learning and fleeing the government when he did things he wasn't supposed to.    
  
Just like Rick.   
  
Except, now, Morty didn't feel like that was an option either. Things with Rick were so much less than ideal. Everything felt strained, at least on his end, not to mention _beyond_ weird, and Morty honestly couldn't stomach the thought of sitting next to Rick in the ship for any length of time. The idea of flying through space, trapped in that glass dome with his seatbelt on while Rick rambled on like everything was fine made Morty physically ill and he knew that adventures were going to be a problem.   
  
Morty frowned and looked up, intending to grab his laptop or his phone and try to find some distraction from his own thoughts only to be surprised when he realized that he'd somehow ended up in the bathroom. He was halfway undressed, apparently having somehow decided that a shower would do him some good, and Morty felt weak as he continued to strip out of his shirt. Morty wanted away from his thoughts but he was just too tired to pick up his clothes and leave. He'd rather wallow in his own pain than get dressed again and if that didn't say something about his mental state, Morty didn't know what would.   
  
Hurt coursed through Morty's veins. He felt so pathetic, being trapped in uncertainty about his future, being upset about what happened with Rick and letting that ruin what he really wanted. Morty knew what kind of man Rick was. He shouldn't have expected anything less, especially not after the first couple times they fooled around, and for the first time in quite a while, Morty didn't try to ignore the voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like Rick when it called him an idiot.   
  
Completely naked, Morty turned to the mirror. It was such a day-and-night difference between what he'd seen in his reflection the other night. He could still remember the way he looked — confident and excited even though he was nervous, fucked out and wanton and surprisingly attractive. Hopeful. Now he just looked disenchanted. He hadn't made it quite all the way to zombified, but he looked like he was well on his way. His hair was unkempt, his frown visible in his gaze, shoulders hunched and his arms coming up to cross his chest as a wave of self-consciousness pulled him under. He really was pathetic.   
  
Morty stared at himself in the mirror and imagined himself in forty years. The mental image he conjured — one that he instinctively knew probably lived a more dull and complacent life than the character from his very first game of Roy —  was enough to have Morty cringing away from the glass and fleeing to the shower.  
  
A hiss escaped the teen's lips as he cranked the shower on, purposefully using the shock to try and ignore how much time he'd been spending there lately. Icy water beat down over his shoulders but Morty didn't bother trying to get it to heat up any faster. He just endured it, trying not to feel like such a loser for letting what happened with Rick get to him.   
  
He just couldn't stop thinking that he shouldn't have been surprised. Rick wasn't serious about anything other than science, and even that was iffy sometimes. He traded places to call home the way children in the park traded toys and the idea that he'd attach or achor himself to anything or anyone was laughable. Even to Morty. He'd lasted longer than most, sticking by Rick as his faithful companion through three separate dimension changes and countless adventures, but even he'd be left behind eventually. That was just Rick, and Morty shouldn't have tried to make him into something he wasn't.   
  
Tears pooled in Morty's eyes and, under the shower spray, he let them fall.   
  
He was such a fucking idiot. Morty didn't know what he'd expected. Maybe that he and Rick would start some shotgun wedding in Vegas type relationship, that they'd fuck and laugh and go on adventures forever and just be happy, totally ignoring all the evidence that told him that would never happen. He thought if Rick just looked at him, just _engaged_ with him in their sexual relationship, that everything would work out and they'd ride off into the cosmos, not once thinking about how much of an asshole Rick was or that he'd probably die before Morty reached thirty. In those moments that he convinced himself a happy ending was right around the corner, he didn't think about how emotionally unavailable Rick was or that he avoided commitment like the plague or even that he was putting his own heart in danger. He'd never once thought that it wouldn't work out and that he'd be the one to get hurt and Morty felt so goddamn stupid for not seeing this coming.   
  
Tears trickled down Morty's cheeks. He wished he never would've come into contact with those stupid poppies or their fucked up sex pollen properties. He wished he wouldn't have grabbed Rick's thigh at the table or at least that he would've taken the hint. He wished he would've turned around instead of entering the garage and getting down on his knees.  
  
His relationship with Rick was trashed and Morty honestly couldn't think of anything more devastating. Rick was his only friend. He was the only one in the family that actively sought him out or defended any of his ideas. He was the only one that seemed to genuinely like his company, even if he sometimes pretended otherwise. Rick was the only one that treated Morty like any semblance of an adult, and they'd both fucked that up.   
  
Even more painful, at least to Morty, was knowing that he was in danger of losing more than just a friend, even if that friend was the only one he had. He was also losing Rick as a mentor.   
  
His grandpa wasn't an especially good role model, at least not by any societal standard, but Morty still learned a lot from him. Through trial and error and drunken lectures and even mortifying consequence, he'd slowly learned how to keep up with Rick and aid him in his work. He'd become at least somewhat self sufficient, able to think on his feet, good at escape, and he had Rick to thank for that. No matter how grueling and fucked up those lessons may have been.   
  
But, even still, Rick had so much more to teach him before Morty could even dream of going out into the multiverse on his own. There were so many things he still didn't know, things he couldn't do on his own, things he didn't know how to find information on, and things he didn't even know he needed to watch for.   
  
Rick always kept an eye on him, told him what humans could or couldn't eat, kept them away from hostal planets or places that couldn't support human life in their cities. He reminded Morty which species were predators and what characteristics to look out for. He fixed the ship when things started to go wrong and always had a backup plan or some half assed idea for escape when things got hairy. Morty _needed_ Rick. He couldn't survive out in space, now or in the future, without Rick's guidance until he was finally ready and, by fucking up his friendship with Rick, Morty felt like he was also fucking up any chance he might've had at living away from Earth.   
  
With how conflicted he was, Morty couldn't even stand the idea of speaking to Rick at the _dinner table,_ let alone out in space where they were alone. He wasn't sure if he'd be anything but useless when it came to their missions right now, and if he started to fail, Morty had no doubt Rick would kick him to the curb and move on. A Morty that couldn't aid his Rick wasn't a Morty worth keeping around, at least that's how it'd always seemed, and that sense of disconnect crushed Morty from the inside out more than even the failure from the other night.   
  
So he cried. Morty stopped trying to hold everything in, stopped trying to be strong or brave, stopped telling himself that everything was fine and that he could try again. He stopped trying not to think about how badly Rick had hurt him, how badly he'd hurt _himself,_ and he let go, crying his eyes out until the water started to go cold. Even then he didn't stop. He just hiccuped out sobs through chattering teeth and relished the pain that came with freezing under icy water, letting it temporarily drive away the emotional agony in his heart.   
  
But, eventually, Morty cried himself out and it became too cold to stay under the water. He was shivering, his teeth chattering so hard that it was hurting his jaw, and when Morty finally stepped out and wrapped himself up in a towel he shivered at the excessively warm material against his skin. He felt hyperaware of it, feeling the warmth like life being breathed back into a corpse, and Morty took a moment to cocoon himself up in it and take comfort in something so simple.   
  
A glance in the mirror revealed that he still looked like shit, somehow less so even though he'd just spent however long crying, but he didn't look like a zombie and that's all that really mattered. There was more color in his face and his eyes looked a little less dead, more like the state of depression he'd been in before he ever met Rick rather than the devastated aftermath of getting his heart shattered, and Morty decided that was good enough.   
  
The teen wrapped the towel more securely around himself and scooped up his clothes, ghosting through the hall and into his room only to fall short when he found Rick lounging on his bed like he belonged there.   
  
The sight of the old man laid out on his bed, propped against the headboard and fiddling with Morty's alarm clock, nearly had him breaking down a second time. The pain was still so fresh, raw and right there on the surface of his mind, and Morty couldn't have possibly been more aware of how vulnerable he was.   
  
"What are you doing in my room?" He asked, tightening his hold on the only thing shielding Rick from his naked body.   
  
"Well," Rick said, dropping his half unassembled alarm clock down onto the small bedside table, "I needed your help on an adventure." Morty's stomach flipped. "But, seeing you dripping wet and already unwrapped, I've got something else in mind."  
  
Morty's stomach dropped like a lead weight. Of course Rick would assume that nothing had changed.  
  
He watched a lecherous grin curl Rick's lips as he gracefully stood from the bed and approached him. The older man's proximity made Morty want to crawl out of his own skin, disgust and tainted self loathing rising up and threatening to choke him when he did just the opposite and let Rick circle around behind him and kiss the side of his neck.   
  
"Jesus, Morty, you're like a — a fuckin' — icicle over here. What happened, you run out of hot water and forget to get out?"   
  
The words were said in jest but they still managed to spear Morty through the heart and all he could do was chuckle awkwardly as Rick nipped his earlobe.   
  
He should've been thrilled. Rick was toying with him more than he ever had, paying attention to him like a real partner instead of another convenient body, but it felt hollow. Morty didn't take pleasure in the way Rick touched him. He didn't feel the thrill he did before when Rick peeled the towel away from his prone form, dropping it carelessly to the door. He didn't feel anything but a heavy weighing sort of acceptance as Rick's hands splayed against his body in a way that was nothing short of possessive.   
  
If his heart didn't know what to do, then at least his body did. Morty could feel himself responding to Rick's touches, getting hard under his hands even though Rick's fingers hadn't strayed further than his hips, but it still wasn't like before and Morty wondered if Rick even noticed the difference.   
  
"C'mon Morty, say something." Rick said a second later, as though he'd read his mind. Rick pulled him in, groaning quietly in Morty's ear as his clothed erection pressed up against the bottom of Morty's back. "You seemed like you couldn't wait to talk the other night."  
  
Morty blushed, despite himself, and started to fall under Rick's spell as the other man circled his belly button with an incredibly persuasive fingertip and held him even closer.   
  
"I-I thought you didn't like when I talked while we — while we did this, Rick." Morty said quietly, not entirely divorced enough from his emotions to focus on that was going on rather than the pain he still felt.   
  
Rick laughed and it hit Morty like a punch to the chest.   
  
"Is that what this is about, Morty? Your little fit?" Unease pooled in Morty's gut but he said nothing as Rick glided both hands down over his sides and took hold of his hips. "Did you get all butthurt about me covering your mouth and telling you to shut up? C'mon Morty, you were gonna make me blow my load."  
  
That was a lie and they both knew it but Morty didn't try to call him out on it.   
  
"That's not why I'm upset." Morty said quietly.   
  
He wasn't sure what he was hoping to accomplish by speaking up, or why he was even admitting to being upset, but the words came out anyway and Morty didn't try to cover them up or pretend they didn't exist.   
  
Rick's fingers dipped dangerously low on his body, practically wrapping themselves around his overly interested dick, and Morty shivered when Rick ran a hot, wet tongue over his pulse point, weaving his magic and actually attempting to seduce the teen for the first time.   
  
"Then what, Morty? Huh?" He pushed, rocking his hips against Morty's ass. "You mad I flipped you over a-a-and fucked your little ass through the couch?"   
  
Rick's chuckle turned decidedly dark and his voice turned husky as he kept talking, totally oblivious to the fact that the trembling in Morty's frame had less to do with arousal and more to do with his heart threatening to shatter and explode.   
  
"That's on you, you little cocktease. Shouldn't have tried to up and, fuckin, _sashay_ away after you got yours if you didn't want grandpa to throw you down and pound your ass."  
  
Rick's grip on his hips tightened without warning and Morty gasped when Rick started to growl in his ear. "Don't lie, Morty. Grandpa gave you exactly what you wanted. You were being a little tease on purpose and we both know it. You wanted me to fuck you, you were tempting me into it the whole fucking time, so don't act like that wasn't what you were angling for."  
  
Morty's lips quivered and he could feel tears pooling in his eyes again. For a genius, Rick could be so fucking dumb sometimes and Morty hated that this was the one time when Rick couldn't see what was right in front of his face.   
  
Or maybe he just didn't want to.   
  
Maybe there was so much grey area that Rick felt like he had ample room to hide, like he didn't have to take a single iota of responsibility, and that he could just brush it off and keep right on fucking his grandson.   
  
The second option sounded far more likelier than the first. It was so like Rick to manipulate his way into avoiding responsibility or consequence than somehow miss something that obvious, and that reminder quickly doused the arousal that'd tried to mask his pain.   
  
"Morty?"   
  
Rick must've noticed him going soft, the teen realized, because his grip loosened a second later and there was a certain note of confusion in his voice. The show of care did nothing for Morty's aching heart.   
  
"Why don't you wanna see my face when we have sex?" He whispered.   
  
It was the first time he'd addressed their unspoken rules directly and Rick immediately stilled. Silence fell between them like the final curtain and Morty squeezed his eyes shut when Rick released him and stood up straight, no longer teasing the side of his icy neck with warm little puffs of air.   
  
"Morty..." Rick said, slipping into that tone that he always used when he was trying to placate Beth, but Morty wasn't having it.   
  
"No, Rick!" He exclaimed, spinning on heel and startling the other man when he suddenly looked up at him with angry, tear-filled eyes. "Why won't you look at me? Why won't you even _acknowledge_ me, Rick?"   
  
Rick's brow dipped in the middle and, before the older man even spoke up, Morty knew that he'd try and turn it around.   
  
"What are you talking about, Morty? What the fuck do you think I'm doing right now?"   
  
But that just made Morty angrier, and Rick seemed to sense it, his eyes widening a fraction.   
  
"Yeah! You're doing it now because you fucked up a-a-and I'm upset! You — you come in here and flirt with me a-a-and take my towel and just act like we've been doing this all along but you know that's bullshit, Rick!" Morty exploded, giving his skinny grandfather an angry shove. "Up until now you've been perfectly fine to — to ignore me and just fucking _use_ me like some sex toy! You don't look at me! You don't talk to me! Nothing!"   
  
"And!" Morty continued, gaining speed and getting angrier as he went, "The moment we started messing around you just shut me out!"   
  
Rick opened his mouth, probably intending on denying it or defending himself in some way but Morty still wasn't having it.   
  
"Don't even try it, Rick!" He yelled, glaring up at his grandpa. "Don't you dare lie to me or all of this is gonna be over! The sex, and our adventures, and all of it!"   
  
Something changed in Rick's gaze when he threatened their livelihood as a team and he started to look somewhat nervous, even though he was making a valiant effort to keep it hidden. But Morty had more than enough practice reading Rick and he could see right through his quickly thrown on mask. Morty had a feeling that he'd finally broke through, and that Rick was starting to understand the deep shit that he'd gotten himself into. Which, in Morty opinion, was probably why he finally decided to just shut the hell up and take what was coming to him.   
  
"You shut me out!" Morty accused, emotion building when his tears threatened to spill over. "You stopped sharing with me a-and letting me in and you treated me like a faceless stranger that's just around for you to fuck! And then you started going on adventures without me!"   
  
Morty stared up at Rick as hurt finally won out over anger. He started at his grandpa without flinching or looking away as he started to cry, betrayed and so fucking devastated by how little he meant to the man in front of him.   
  
"I don't mean anything to you, do I?"   
  
"C'mon, Morty, that's not—"   
  
_“Do I?"_  
  
Rick looked at him for a long moment and sighed, running a resigned hand down his face.   
  
"Look, Morty," Rick said, tone laced with surrender. "I'm your grandpa. I know I'm a piece of shit at that and that good grandparents don't fuck their grandkids, but that's what I am, Morty. I care about you but I'm not your little boyfriend or whatever."  
  
Morty's heart clenched and, even though he wasn't sure if Rick was trying to give him this last possible chance at any hope for a normal life, or if he was trying to skip out on a commitment to him, but either way, it was too much. Too much and not nearly enough.   
  
“You’re just scared,” Morty boldly accused, standing tall with more audacity than he actually had. “You're scared that you'll get too attached a-a-and one day I'll leave or get killed or — or whatever and you'll have nothing and no one. You’re scared shitless of how I make you feel.”  
  
There was a drawn-out pause and Rick suddenly looked furious, like he wanted to deny it and start a brand new sort of fight, which was very possible seeing as how he'd never once said that he had any sort of romantic feelings for his grandson, but, to Morty's surprise, Rick just sneered and reached into his coat to grab his flask, taking an incredibly long swig.   
  
“Damn,” Rick eventually said, his tone brimming with condescension and the sort of cruelty he reached for when he had nothing else to work with. “You got me there, kiddo.”  
  
“Don’t call me ‘kiddo’ when we’re about to have sex.” Morty snapped.   
  
Rick chuckled and it put Morty on edge, but Rick ignored him. "I don't think we're gonna be having sex anytime soon, Morty."  
  
"Oh yeah?" Morty challenged, "And why's that?"   
  
Morty wasn't sure if it was his tone or the aggressive way he stepped forward, invading Rick's space and acting like more of a badass than he was, but Morty could tell the moment that Rick snapped. Emotion twisted his features into an ugly scowl right before his features went entirely flat and, for the first time since they started talking, Morty felt a flicker of fear.   
  
"You just have to keep pushing, don'tcha, Morty?"   
  
Anxiety swarmed Morty's heart like bees around a hive but he stood his ground, even when Rick loomed over him with piercing eyes and a face that could've been made from stone.   
  
And then Rick exploded into an angry rant and Morty momentarily wondered if his parents were gonna hear it and burst in to try and see what was going on — something that'd be _extremely_ bad for them since he was naked and Rick was about to start screaming about their sex life.   
  
"You think I don't know I make your life hell, Morty? Huh? You think I don't know that you'd rather be holed up in your nasty room with your laptop or at _school_ than out with me, risking your life on adventures? I know I make your life hard, Morty. I'm well fucking aware of that."  
  
Morty's brows pulled together and he started to say that he _loved_ their adventures but Rick just steam rolled right over him, some of the old Rick peeking through as he did. "Boo-hoo, poor me, I have to see the _multiverse."_  
  
Rick glared.   
  
"I get that I'm not the easiest to deal with and that you — you blame a lot of shit on me about your fucked up life, but I try not to fuck it up as bad as I could, Morty. There's a lot of shit I don't drag you through a-a-and that's what I'm trying to do here, Morty, but you just won't let it be!"  
  
"I tried to fucking _help_ you, Morty." Rick said, throwing his hands up. "Was it fucked up that I gave my grandson a hand job instead of just turning the other damn cheek? Yeah, it probably was! But hey, I figured that was better than letting you whack off and pump yourself bloody with all that shit in your system! I tried to make that shit as impersonal as possible so I wouldn't scar your dumb little ass but then you had to make it weird, Morty! You groped me at the dinner table! In front of my fucking daughter, Morty! In front of our family!"  
  
"Cut the crap RIck! Since when do you give a fuck about our family?" Morty cut in, furious that Rick was somehow blaming him for all of this, just like he'd tried to do in the beginning. "They're not even our real family! We've switched dimensions like four times!"   
  
"That's not the goddamn point, Morty!"   
  
"Well, then what is!"   
  
"The point is that I'm trying not to ruin you!" Rick finally screamed.  
  
Silence fell between them, this time more deafening and oppressive than ever, and, as Morty stared up at Rick, watching him lose the anger that'd fueled him, he looked almost ancient. Rick normally looked so lively, mischievous and full of energy or balls deep in the sort of action that made it easy to forget that he was actually an old man but, watching his anger crumble apart, Morty was finally able to see the age and exhaustion lining Rick's face.   
  
It didn't make him any less upset, and it certainly wasn't going to get them out of trouble, but it made Morty regret his decision to complicate their relationship once more.   
  
"I'll ruin you, Morty." Rick finally said.   
  
The defeated tone of those words tugged at Morty's heartstrings and he tried to reach out, to lay a hand on Rick's arm or just let himself to known, but Rick felt unapproachable, like there was a forcefield around him keeping everyone away, especially him, and Morty dropped his hand before ever making contact.   
  
"You're not gonna—"   
  
"Yes, I am, Morty." Rick said, cutting him off and leaving no room for debate. "I've already fucked your life up, Morty, and I gotta live with that. But I can't fuck this up for you. I'm a selfish asshole, Morty. I take and take and take and I've already taken almost everything from you. But I can't take _this."_  
  
Rick didn't say what _this_ was, but Morty had a feeling he knew. Morty was almost positive that Rick was talking about his chance for a normal life. For a normal relationship. For something functional, here, on Earth. Or maybe even out in space, too. For _love._ And it touched Morty in a place he didn't even know was there.   
  
Rick wasn't lying. He'd taken so much from him already, years of his life, levels of innocence that could never be recovered, and he'd made it all but impossible to be normal. He'd fulfilled the role of friend and family member and even mentor all in one, which was so much more than anyone else in his life had ever even tried, and that offered him so much power in Morty's life. It gave him the upper hand in their relationship and, with the way Morty threw himself at Rick, he could've easily taken that too. And he did, to a degree. But he hadn't tried to make it something it wasn't. He hadn't intentionally hurt him, He'd tried to put distance between them and save Morty from seeing him as a romantic interest and, somewhere deep down, Morty honestly wondered if Rick had agreed to their sexual relationship as a way to avoid hurting him through rejection as well, no matter how misguided.   
  
Rick didn't want to hurt him. He didn't want to take something from him that could never be given back or replaced... But he already had. Whether he intended to or not, and Morty hadn't realized how much until he understood the way Rick had tried, and failed, to shield him from something he wouldn't stop pushing for.   
  
They stared at each other for a long moment, making eye contact, waiting to see if the other would say something, and Morty was momentarily distracted by how expressive Rick's eyes really were. Even after years of substance abuse, they were still too bright, too beautiful, too ensnaring. Even sparkling with anger and glossy with pain; they were the sort of eyes that were captivating enough to drown in. Enough to make the one trapped in their draw _want_ to drown in them and to never come back up for air, and Morty wondered if this was what Rick meant when he said he'd ruin him.   
  
"It's too late," Morty choked out, willingly drowning himself in Rick's unwavering stare. "I already love you."  
  
Rick stared at him for a moment longer and Morty's heart started to really pound when it looked like Rick was going to say something but, before he could, the older man turned away from him and stalked out the door. Morty barely even felt himself slide down to his knees, staring out into the hallway and praying Rick would come back.   
  
But he didn't, and the devastation of Rick abandoning him in the face of his confession finished what the other night had already started, breaking Morty's heart in two and leaving him to sob on the bedroom floor.   



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! Final chapter of this fic! I'm pretty pleased with the way I decided to end it and I hope you guys like it too(: I'm really glad to have joined the Big Bang. It was a blast and, if Klax ever decides to host another one, you can bet that I'll sign up a second time just as fast. Thank you guys for all the comments and kudos and just for supporting me as an author, and an even bigger thank you to Shameless-Display for putting in the time and effort to bring this fic to life with their art. I really can't thank you enough. So, without further adieu, the final chapter!
> 
> Xoxo,  
> Clair

A familiar flash of green illuminated the darkened interior of Morty's room. The eerie glow disappeared just as quickly as it'd arrived, maybe even faster, and Morty didn't have to have eyes in the back of his head to know who was standing at the edge of his bed.  
  
Rick didn't say anything, and neither did he. Morty didn't know how many hours he'd laid there, curled up in a ball under his covers and pretending like the entire world didn't exist, but the tension-wrought silence Rick carried alongside him like a second skin consumed those waking hours as if they were nothing. It made the endless moments trying to piece together his ruined wasteland of a heart feel like the blink of an eye compared to the painful eternity he spent waiting for Rick to speak, and Morty couldn't remember the last time he'd been so painfully anxious.  
  
"Scoot over."  
  
The tension in Morty's body released all at once, slipping through the cracks like water from a broken vase, and he sagged against his sheets. He wanted to argue, kick Rick out and insist that he'd already done enough damage, to just be _alone,_ but Morty was tired. He didn't have any more fight left in him. Like a stallion broken by the persistence of lesser men, Morty's raging spirit had finally run out and he didn't have any fire left in his veins. So the boy did as Rick asked, scooting closer to the wall and making room for the older man on his tiny twin sized bed.  
  
He could feel the mattress dip below Rick's weight. The movement and the groaned out protest from the springs felt so much less noticeable than when anyone else did it, and maybe that was a testament to how rail thin his grandpa actually was beneath all of that badassery, or maybe Rick was just that good at going unnoticed when he wanted. Morty squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it all out, but sucked in a sharp breath as Rick slipped beneath the covers, surprising him by pressing the entire length of his naked body against the teen's back.  
  
Every inch of Rick's body was spooned up against him, nestled against his back and tucked up behind his knees, curled around him in equal parts protective possessiveness, and Morty breath caught in his chest when he felt Rick's breath against his nape.  
  
"Rick?"  
  
His voice sounded so small in the dark, quiet and timid in a way he hadn't been for years now, and Morty tried not to dwell on how pitiful he sounded.  
  
"Not yet," Rick whispered back, nosing at the tiny curls along the back of Morty's hair line before falling silent.  
  
Morty didn't say anything else. He laid there quietly, waiting for Rick to tell him what the fuck was going on, feeling like his insides were melting and mending and finding new ways to shatter apart simultaneously. It was the most emotionally draining silence of his life, more tense and fear-inspiring than most life-or-death situations he'd faced, and even though he'd been pretty confident there wasn't a single tear left in his body, wetness still trickled down his cheeks.  
  
But Rick was touching him. Touching him like he _mattered._  
  
He was dragging his long, skilled fingers up and down the teen's side, palming Morty's hip and trailing his touch down around the inside of his thigh, teasing the warm sensitive flesh there. His touch was fleeting, roaming from place to place, skimming up Morty's body to trace over his collarbone and down his sternum, stroking his taut belly and carding his fingers through Morty's pubes, petting them as he avoided touching his stirring cock.  
  
Morty was confused. He was hurt by what happened earlier, devastated from their talk and so wrung out that he could barely function. The only reason he wasn't unconscious was because he was too exhausted to sleep, Morty was sure of that. He knew he should've put a stop to it, but he was weak. So weak. Rick's hands felt like heaven against his body, mapping him in a way they'd never done before, exploring him, _enjoying_ him as Rick remained plastered up against him from behind, his own dick nudging against Morty's ass, and he couldn't deny himself the pleasure of Rick's attention.  
  
It just felt so good, like everything he'd ever wanted, like everything he'd been striving for since that first encounter in the garage, and Morty openly whimpered when Rick started laying open-mouthed kisses along the side of his neck.  
  
"That's right, Morty," Rick breathed, "let go and grandpa will take care of you."  
  
Morty nodded eagerly, crying in quiet, hiccuped out sobs as he agreed. His body felt heavier than ever as he leaned back against Rick, pushing his hips out and trying to get Rick to touch him where he wanted.  
  
The older man didn't hesitate to reward him for his trusting compliance.  
  
In seconds, Rick's calloused fingers were wrapped around his aching shaft and Morty whimpered helplessly as Rick started to pump his fist. The sensation of touch in combination with his wrecked emotional state had Morty squirming immediately, whining and mewling for more as Rick took him apart without even trying.  
  
It was over painfully quick. Morty was just too vulnerable and emotionally exposed to have it happen any other way, and he was coming into the cupped palm of Rick's hand in less than two minutes with a needy whine.  
  
He expected it to end after that, his floaty sense of awareness set on drifting through the warmth of his afterglow and into the arms of sleep, and maybe that's why it startled him so when Rick kept right on touching him.  
  
The older man was nuzzling at his neck, pressing kisses to the back of Morty's shoulders between murmured out words that his brain couldn't quite decipher as he reached down and slicked his cock with Morty's release. The teen wondered if Rick would fuck him then, if he'd try to open him up without going off in search of lube, or if he'd just rub up against him from behind. He gasped when the slick tip of Rick's shaft nudged the part in his thighs and that gasp rose in pitch when Rick pushed forward with a throaty groan.

"Fuck, Morty," Rick panted in his ear, "You're so fucking soft. So soft for me, baby."

  
Morty trembled in Rick's grasp as the older man started to rock his hips, fucking the inside of his thighs with nothing but the teen's own come for lubricant. It felt so strange, so unlike having Rick actually _inside of him,_ but it was still incredibly intimate somehow. He could feel how hard Rick was. He could feel the soft, velvety hardness of his shaft between his thighs, rubbing against his balls as Rick moved, and Morty could actually feel it when Rick's strokes got smoother, undoubtedly aided by the slickness of his own pre-come.  
  
"Morty, can you — "  
  
The brunet clenched his thighs, pressing them tighter together before Rick could even finish his sentence, and the older man moaned into the back of his neck, speeding up his strokes just a fraction.  
  
"Christ, Morty, yeah. Just like that, baby, keep squeezing me between those gorgeous legs of yours."  
  
Morty nodded, more to himself than to Rick, but he was once again rewarded when Rick took hold of his half hard cock and started brushing his thumb back and forth over his sensitive slit. Morty cried out softly at the overwhelming nature of it, the sound ripped from him without any sort of consent, but Rick just shushed him, rolling his hips slow and purposeful as he rubbed his thumb in teasing circles around Morty's frenulum.  
  
"Good boy, Morty," Rick panted huskily in his ear. "Just take what grandpa gives you, baby."  
  
The overstimulation wasn't nearly as bad as when Rick fucked him in the couch, forcing that third and mostly unwanted orgasm from his body, but it was still overwhelming and Morty felt like he was on the verge of ugly crying from the intense pleasure he was being subjected to rather than the emotional turmoil in his heart.  
  
"P-please, Rick." He begged, leaning even more heavily on partner.  
  
"Please what, Morty? Use your words, baby."  
  
Morty finally sobbed at the praise and the pet names, tears streaming down his cheeks as Rick layered nipping kisses along the side of his neck and his jaw and even his earlobe.  
  
"M-m-more, Rick, please, more." He whined, pushing his hips more firmly against the cradle of Rick's pelvis.  
  
The older man groaned and wrapped Morty up tight in one of his arms, holding the boy to his chest as he pumped his length in between his thighs while his other hand started to jerk Morty off a second time. The full contact of Rick's palm against his oversensitive flesh had Morty squirming and whining in Rick's grasp, unable to stay still, his body jolting in Rick's arms every few strokes, and eventually Rick could do nothing but bury his face in the curve of Morty's neck as he drove them both closer and closer to orgasm.

 

                                                     

  
  
Arching his hips, Rick wrung another gasp from Morty's lips as his cock rubbed more firmly against the brunet's sack, pressing his balls closer to his body, and that's all it took for Morty to come apart at the seams a second time. He shook to completion in Rick's arms, panting and crying out as he emptied himself into the older man's hand once more, his thighs tensing harshly as he rode out the pain-edged orgasm, and watching Morty fall apart so spectacularly was enough to force Rick over the edge as well.  
  
He growled in the boy's ear as he slammed his hips forward, burying his cock as deeply between Morty's messy thighs as he could, just as he'd done the other night when he was inside of him, and Rick grunted as he came, shooting his load all over Morty's wall and the sheets in front of them.  
  
They were both panting in the aftermath, leaning on each other, and Morty didn't even protest when Rick wiped his soiled hand on his comforter. He just leaned tiredly into Rick and closed his eyes, breathing hard and waiting to slowly drift down form the high Rick bestowed upon him.  
  
They both laid in calm silence for quite some time, not saying a word as the sweat cooled and turned tacky against their skin. But, while Morty's body was slowly relaxing after the intense round of sex, his mind was not. With every passing second, confusion and hurt ate away at the easy-going calm he'd found in Rick's arms and eventually, Morty couldn't stand it anymore.  
  
"Why are you doing this, Rick?" He choked out, barely able to speak around his own heart.  
  
A thin, wiry arm snaked around his middle and a quiet, wounded sound slipped past Morty's lips when Rick gently pulled him in closer. Their bodies were so close, nothing between them, Rick chest molded to his back and both of their hearts trying to meet in the middle. It gave Morty goosebumps.  
  
"Did you mean it?"  
  
Morty didn't have to ask what Rick meant. He already knew, of course, and it broke Morty's heart to have to tell the truth.  
  
He nodded, whispering a quiet "yes" like the most damning of confessions.  
  
Morty held his breath, unable to breath through the thick, mind-numbing tension that trailed after that one little word. It was all around them, filling every space and every gap, clogging his lungs like wet cotton, leaving him helpless as he waited, and Morty released the breath he'd been holding all at once in a shuttery exhale when he felt Rick press his sweat dampened forehead against the back of his neck with a resigned sigh.  
  
"It wasn't supposed to be like this, Morty." Rick said quietly.  
  
"How was it supposed to be?"  
  
Rick was quiet for a long moment, but Morty didn't immediately feel the tension from before. It was held at bay by the tightening of Rick's arm around his middle and the phantom brush of thin lips against his neck.  
  
"Quampton Poppies are fascinating, Morty." Rick’s voice was like the quietest rumble of thunder in the distance and, with as tired as he was, it wasn't hard for Morty to close his eyes and just sink into the darkness of it, quietly listening. "They only grow on planets that are too dark and too cold to have a sun anywhere close by. They don't need water. Or light. Or even carbon dioxide to survive. Their cell walls, and the nuclei within, are more molecularly sturdy than most natural found substances in space."  
  
Morty frowned, wondering where Rick was going with his little tangent, but then the older man was speaking again and suddenly Morty didn't need to guess.  
  
"But the most interesting thing about these flowers is how they breed, Morty."  
  
Rick leaned in, settling just above his shoulder, and Morty bit his lip to keep from making a sound when Rick started speaking in that low, hypnotic voice directly next to his ear.  
  
"Their pollen is the natural equivalent of a biometric scanner, Morty. See, these flowers? They're so rare that, because of the biological requirements to grow them and the harsh environment necessary to make them bloom, it's hard for them to trade DNA. Most times, on planets where they can actually grow, sentient life is scarce. The atmosphere tends to be thin and there's just not enough heavy air currents or active foot traffic to scatter their pollen spores to the next cluster of flowers. So they've adapted."  
  
"Whenever they come into contact with organic life, their spores attach to it and burrow into the first layer of the epidermis — the skin, Morty. They release chemicals that mimic the —  mimic the urge to breed in mammals and, until they're met with another DNA type from the same species, they won't stop pouring pheromones into whatever creature they attached themselves to."  
  
Morty's exhausted brain took a moment to absorb that information, pulling it apart and trying to grasp the entire picture before asking, "Then why weren't you affected when you touched me in the ship?"  
  
Rick shook his head, his warm, presumably flushed cheeks brushing against Morty's shoulder and the back of his jaw.  
  
"It doesn't work like that. The pollen doesn't infect everyone that comes into contact with it, Morty, just creatures that meet it at the source. The objective is to spread, to latch onto more lifeforms through breeding based exposure and then to ride along on those lifeforms, buried in their skin until either a suitable environment is found or until the infected party come across a totally different set of the same flowers. Or until you shed enough skin cells to dislodge them. It doesn't take as long in humans as it does in other lifeforms, Morty, but it still sucks."  
  
"You've been infected before?" Morty asked with surprised.  
  
"Oh yeah, more than once, Morty. And let me tell ya, you can beat off for days without making a bit of headway. And by the time it wears off, your dick is so sore and raw that you can barely hold it to take a piss for the next month."  
  
Morty was torn between cringing at the graphic description of what would've happened had Rick not intervened and being furious at Rick for even dragging him along when he knew what the consequences of a mistake could be. The latter won out.  
  
"Why did you even bring me along then, Rick?" Morty asked heatedly. "If you'd been infected before a-a-and you knew what could happen, why'd you even ask me to come?"  
  
Rick sighed and pulled his head back, putting some distance between them as he laid his head on Morty's pillow and just held him.  
  
"Because, Morty, you need to be out on adventures without the training wheels."  
  
Morty nearly whipped around at that, ready to scrape the bottom of the barrel and dredge up just enough fight to demand Rick explain how risking his life on a near daily basis and being plastered on the galactic governments top ten list of most wanted criminals right alongside Rick counted as training wheel adventures, but Rick was already a step ahead. He gave Morty's waist a knowing squeeze and the teen calmed down with an irritated huff, glaring mildly at the mess they'd made of his wall, wondering how Rick would talk his way out of the offensive little hole he'd dug himself.  
  
"Listen, Morty," Rick said from behind him, "any dipshit can do crime. We make it look cool because we do awesome shit that fucks everything up and then we just portal away but any half-baked lifeform that can rub two brain cells together can figure out how to — how to steal stuff or wreck something important or just generally be a pain in the ass, but this is about _science,_ Morty."  
  
Rick's fingers splayed wide on across Morty's belly and the teen found himself breathless once more as Rick's voice took on a soft, vulnerable quality that he'd never once heard in the light of day.  
  
"You can't make Concentrated Dark Matter without Quampton Poppies, Morty."  
  
And, just like that, Morty's entire world crumbled beneath him.  
  
"It was a dumb choice, and a half-assed plan, Morty, I'm not saying it wasn't," Rick admitted, "but I'm trying to start getting you involved with my work, Morty. With science. You'll never be a genius like me. I'm the smartest man in the universe, Morty, _nobody_ will ever be as smart as me, but I know you're not dumb."  
  
The teen was shaking in Rick's arms, trembling under the waves of emotions slamming into him from all fronts in the aftermath of Rick's words, what they'd just done, and what it all meant  
  
"Why are you doing this, Rick?" Morty begged, trying not to cry again. "Why are you telling me these things?"  
  
The older man sighed once more and pulled Morty back to him, eating up the meager amount of space between them as he held Morty to his overly warm chest and circled back around to his original point.  
  
"It was just supposed to be one of those weird things that happen out in space that we never talk about again, Morty. Like that thing on Zeta-Sector K."  
  
Blood rushed to Morty's cheeks in a spectacular blush and he looked pointedly at the wall, refusing to even think about the thing Rick was referring to.  
  
"I'm a dick, Morty, but I just wanted to help you out." Rick said, and the sadness in his tone made Morty heart clench. "It was one little handjob and then you'd be fine, Morty. I kept it as distanced and clinical as possible, didn't flick you shit about it, didn't talk about it, nothing, and I thought that'd be the end of it. And now here we are and you're..." _apparently in love with me,_ "and I'm..."  
  
Rick trailed off and, for the first time, Morty wished he could see Rick's face.  
  
"And you're what, Rick?" Morty asked, stomach fluttering with something larger and more insistent than butterflies.  
  
"I'm here, feeling like a huge asshole for hurting you over and over and over."  
  
It wasn't the answer he'd been hoping for and Morty drooped, looking down at his sheets with a frown.  
  
"Oh."  
  
The defeat in his tone made Rick groan and the scientist pressed his forehead back against Morty's nape, flexing his forearm and holding him tight. "C'mon, Morty, don't make me say it."  
  
Morty nodded silently. It was more than he could've hoped for, that Rick would not only acknowledge him but also seemed to have similar feelings to his own. He knew Rick wasn't especially good at vocalizing sentimental feelings. The older man had probably shared more with him in this single interaction than he had in almost three months before they ever slept together, when they were at their closest, but even so, it still bummed Morty out. He didn't _need_ to hear it. He knew Rick cared about him, he'd known that before any of this started, but it felt different now, like the emotion had evolved into something more, and for once he wanted Rick to own up to his emotions and not try and pretend like they didn't exist to inconvenience him if he didn't talk about them.  
  
"I love you, Morty."  
  
The teen nearly gave himself whiplash with the way he jerked around to look at his grandpa, sure that he'd somehow misheard, but one look at Rick was all the proof he'd ever need that he hadn't. The older man was blushing, _actually blushing,_ and even though he probably would've blamed it on the sex had Morty said something, there was a shyness to him and the way he couldn't seem to look Morty in the eye that had his heart racing.  
  
Rick didn't try to stop him as Morty carefully extracted himself from the older man's grasp. He let Morty rolling over to face him without issue and the teen looked up into the face of his mentor with hopeful awe.  
  
"Don't expect me to say it often." Rick grumbled, trying to save face and still not looking into his eyes.  
  
"Please, Rick, just one more time?"  
  
Maybe it was the tone of his voice, or the way his expression made it seem like he just couldn't believe it, but Rick took one look at him and acquiesced. He draped his arm around Morty's waist with a put out sigh and propped himself up on his elbow, looking into the teen's eyes with no small amount of fondness.  
  
"I love you, Morty."  
  
A calm, easy-going bliss filled Morty then. He couldn’t have described it if he tried, but it had to do with how Rick seemed to cherish him in his own way, how Rick had stated, out loud, that he loved him even though he didn't have to. The magnitude of that admission didn’t rock Morty to the core as he might have expected it too. Instead, it pervaded him like a slow spill of honey, a subtle, molten glow that lit him from within and soothed something raw and agitated inside of him.  
  
"I love you too, Rick." Morty whispered back with a bashful smile.  
  
The old man smirked and Morty's blush darkened a shade, that glimpse of the Rick he knew so well enough to make him shy, and he felt his heart stutter in his chest when Rick cupped his face and brought him in for a kiss.  
  
It was the first time Rick had ever kissed him on the mouth and, as he wrapped both arms around the older man's neck and dragged him further down, deepening it to their mutual enjoyment, Morty decided that maybe life on Earth wasn't all that bad afterall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This second piece is by Shameless! Who can be found at https://shameless-display.tumblr.com. Thank you so much for another fantastic piece for this fic!


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